Smoke and Flowers
by DarthAmmonite
Summary: When fourthseat Nanao has to transfer to a new division, the Eighth is her last choice. Still, these things happen...somehow. She doesn't want to be there, and her new Captain's not quite sure she belongs there. Sake! Paranoia! Random art history!
1. Chapter 1

And here I am again! Can't get enough of this pairing. It's like crack. (Speaking of which, someday the Zaraki one. I swear. Really.) This one's a little more serious than "Breathing Lessons," which I suspect means it won't work quite so well, since slapstick is generally where I shine. Everbody's a little bit grimmer and a trifle more short-temper (and Nanao is arguably downright bitter.) Still, bein' me, there'll probably still be some amusements along the way...

I play fairly fast and loose with chronology, because who wants to let that sort of thing get in the way? May contain the faintest of spoilers for the Soul Society arc.

You've been warned.

* * *

Captain Shunsui of the Eighth leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk, making the chair creak warningly. It was a cold grey day, and the watery light through the window stole most the color from the room. The woman kneeling in front of the desk had little enough color to begin with, but in the cold autumn light, she looked almost monochromatic, a black and white cutout against the amber wooden floor. 

"So," he said. "Why do you want to transfer out of your squad, again?"

Fourth-seat Ise Nanao of the Third sat in a military seiza position, fist on the floor between her knees, one hand on the hilt of her sword. It wasn't entirely comfortable, but she could keep it up for hours, and she was hoping that the martial quality of the stance would be off-putting to a captain as notoriously laid-back as Shunsui.

"Sir. I am seeking a rank commensurate with my talents, sir."

"Mmmm."

The large and absurd straw hat he was wearing covered most of his face—_and what the hell kind of hat is that for a captain, anyway? He looks like a refugee from a rice paddy—_

but Nanao could see one dark eye watching her from under the brim. She lowered her gaze to the floor and kept it there.

_Be unappealing. You want into the Tenth or the Thirteenth, not this traveling circus. This is only a courtesy interview. Be unappealing._

She stared at the floor and tried hard to look uninteresting.

"You know," Shunsui said pleasantly, "generally I like it when beautiful women lie to me, but not in this particular case."

"Sir?" Her stomach knotted unpleasantly. She sat as still as stone around it.

_He doesn't know, he _can't_ know, nobody could know, you've never told anybody...No, of course he doesn't know. He's grasping at straws. He can't read your mind._

_Calm. Stay calm. _

She kept her eyes fixed on the floor. There was a knot in the grain of one of the floorboards that looked like the face of a small, lopsided animal. She could feel Shunsui watching her. It made her feel unpleasantly exposed.

"Ise Nanao…fourth seat Nanao." He sat up and propped his chin on his hand. "Lovely Nanao-chan."

She did not roll her eyes—she was far too disciplined for that—but she definitely thought about it. "That is hardly an appropriate form of address. Sir."

"I'm not a terribly appropriate man."

That was an understatement and a half. _God, not the Eighth. _Please_ not the Eighth. _Shunsui was famous throughout the thirteen squads, and not entirely in a good way. Sure, the man was powerful—you could feel him drawing his swords from halfway across the city—but only if you could wake him up first. Sleep, sex, and sake appeared to be his only interests, although the order changed depending on the time of day.

The Eighth squad was pretty much divided between those who were fanatically loyal to him and would have walked through fire on his say-so, and those who were waiting for the paperwork to go through to get the hell out of there. He hadn't been able to keep a Vice-Captain around for years. Nanao was pretty certain she knew which camp she'd fall into.

_It's better than the Third, though. Anything's better than the Third right now. A captain that undresses you with his eyes is still better than a captain that vivisects you with them._

That was the heart of it, really. Shunsui might look at her as if he was thinking about what she'd be like in bed, but Ichimaru Gin usually looked at her as if he was calculating the cost of her organs on the open market.

"So." Shunsui actually got up and walked around the desk, then slumped against it as if the brief walk had exhausted him. "Why are you really leaving?"

"Sir, I have already stated—"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Try again, my dear Nanao-chan. You've been a fourth seat for years, and you've never shown any desire to advance beyond it. You're ridiculously overpowered for the post. Hell, you could probably be the Vice-Captain of your squad if you wanted—Kira's a sweet kid, but he's all loyalty and no spine."

Be Vice-Captain, and spend her days trailing that psychopath Gin like a shadow? Nanao swallowed and kept her eyes locked on the little wood-grain animal. "Sir." It was a wonderful word, "sir." You could mean anything by it, or nothing at all, but no one could accuse you of not paying attention.

Some days it seemed like it formed the majority of her vocabulary.

"You've never displayed the slightest trace of ambition—and now you wish me to believe that you're transferring because you can't advance any farther in your own squad?" He leaned over. "Look at me, sweetheart."

She raised her head. Her eyes went as far as his chin, which hadn't been shaved for awhile, and she locked them there, because she had no desire to look into his eyes.

_Go away. Get this over with and leave. I'll go interview with one of the sane captains. I don't even want to be here, but you were on the list first._

"I'm up here."

"Sir."

He drummed his fingers on his arm. "You're very good at pretending I don't exist, Nanao-chan."

"Sir," she said, as neutrally as possible. _Look through him, not at him. That's the trick. Nobody likes to be looked through. _Nanao was a master of that particular art. It was particularly effective against the lower ranks of the Third.

"Amazing. You can do it while talking to me, no less. That's talent." Shunsui grinned. He had very white teeth.

_The better to eat you with, my dear…no, it's still not as creepy as Gin's smile. _Not surprising. You'd have to go scouting the outer reaches of the animal kingdom for smiles that creepy. Sharks. Hyenas. Alligators. That sort of thing.

Nanao was staring so intently through him and concentrating on being uninteresting that she failed to see the hand coming at her until his fingers caught her under the chin. He tugged her chin up, not with any particular cruelty, until she met his eyes.

She did not flinch. She didn't much like to be touched, but her pride was iron and adamant. She would have walked through fire before showing discomfort in front of this annoying man.

His eyes were very dark brown and there was nothing lazy about them at all. Nanao had a sick feeling that he saw both the flinch and the pride that squelched it, that he was looking not through her, but _into_ her, into dark places in her mind that she'd done her best to forget. It wasn't quite the flaying look that the Third's Captain had—there was no malice in it, for one thing, surgery rather than butchery—but it brooked no deception.

_Surgery, butchery, you're still splayed open on a slab at the end of the day…_

Her thoughts had been unremittingly bleak lately. She was getting good at ignoring them.

"Well, Nanao-chan?"

She swallowed, feeling her throat work against his fingers. _Just tell him. No point in lying, whatever it does to your pride. Just tell him and this'll be over, and you can walk out of there and go interview with the Tenth or the—no, damnit, he and Captain Ukitate are inseparable, the Thirteenth will be out, but at least there's still the Tenth._

"Sir," she said, her voice absolutely flat, and with no trace of how much that flatness cost her, "the Captain of Third scares me half the death." And then she dropped her eyes again, because that was humiliating to admit to oneself in the dark watches of the night, let alone to a man you didn't know.

_One should love one's captain, or at least respect him. One should not cringe like a whipped dog whenever he looks at you. _

She'd had a nightmare the other night that Gin was coming after her. He hadn't even done anything, just kept following her, down corridors that got smaller and smaller and darker and darker, always just a pace behind her. Smiling. She'd woken drenched in sweat, with a scream choking in her throat. Pride had kept it down—pride, and the fact that if anybody screamed in the Third's compound, there was a good chance that someone would come running, and that someone might be…no. Better to stuff a hank of sheet between your teeth and bite down until the horror went away.

She'd actually chewed a hole in the sheet. She'd seen that in the morning and given up. Time to file the papers and be done with it. It wasn't getting any better. It would never get any better. She'd loved the Third, she had friends there, but this was madness. She'd spent two hundred years carving out a solid place to stand, and every day she stayed in the Third, she could feel the ground sliding away under her like quicksand.

Shunsui was nodding. "So you're not an idiot. That's promising." He took his hand away and ran it through his hair.

"…sir?"

"I consider being afraid of Gin to be very good sense, Nanao-chan."

Despite herself, her eyes flicked to the corners of the room. There were some things that one simply did not say aloud. You never knew what might be listening.

Shunsui nodded slowly. She guessed he hadn't missed _that_, either.

"Come on, then," he said, rising and walking past her to the door.

"Sir?" Nanao said blankly, turning her head.

He tapped his fingers on the doorframe. "To the practice ground, Nanao-chan. Do you expect me to hire an officer that I haven't seen fight?"

_I don't expect you to hire me at all, you insufferable…_ Nanao bit off that train of thought. It wasn't productive. "Sir," she said, for the hundredth time, and followed.

* * *

The training field in the middle of the Eighth Division's compound was a broad, empty courtyard. The ground was packed earth. Dust picked up under Nanao's sandals as she crossed behind the captain. 

His pink haori was flapping around him like garish wings. She wondered vaguely where he'd found a women's haori in his size, then decided she didn't much care.

_This is a dreadful waste of time. I'm going to be late to the next round of interviews. I'll probably need a shower. Great. Not only do I have to put up with this idiocy, but now he's going to cost me a position somewhere decent. Why? What is he trying to prove? _

"Come on, then," he said, taking up a position a dozen paces away. "Show me what you've got."

Nanao rubbed a hand over her temple. The sky was grey and entirely too bright, one of those overcast days that seem to have a broad, indirect glare coming from all directions. Days like that usually gave her a headache. Having to face this pink-draped idiot was _not_ helping.

She flung a spell at him, underhand. He stepped aside, an expression of clear disappointment on his face. "Come on, you can do better than _that."_

Nanao stifled a sigh. He was right, she could. She just had no particular desire to. She snapped out a binding kido, and then followed it up with fire while he jumped out of the way.

"Better," he called, "but I'm still not impressed."

"Perhaps I'm simply not very impressive. Sir."

There was a flicker of flash, the smell of ozone. He was suddenly less than six inches away, leaning over her. She started to take a step back, and restrained herself. _No pink-wearing drunk is going to bully me, I don't care how powerful you think you are…_

"My dear Nano-chan," he purred, "I intend to keep you out here until I _am_ impressed. Keep that in mind."

She narrowed her eyes. The irritation she was feeling was moving rapidly towards anger.

_Fine. Let's see if this impresses you…_

"Shot of Red Fire!"

He had to leap out of the way of that one, and she followed it up with two more at his feet, turning to track her target, snapping out the gestures. The words tasted hard and metallic in her mouth, like blood.

His footwork was good, she'd give him that. She switched to lightning, which had to be deflected rather than dodged, and he smacked the initial bolt aside with his scabbard, then two more, then had to leap out of the way when she switched back to fire again.

"Better…" he panted. "Much…better…"

What would Gin have said? "You ain't seen nothin' yet…" She could almost hear him speaking. Adrenalin fired her muscles. The next spell had an edge to it. Shunsui dropped hastily to one knee to let it pass overhead.

He opened his mouth, and Nanao _knew_ he was going to say something patronizing—gods, she'd spent twenty minutes in his company and she _already_ wanted to kick his teeth in—so she flung up her hands and rattled off the next incantation—"Mask of blood and flesh…"

Shunsui bounced up on the balls of his feet, obvious ready to dodge again, and Nanao felt a cold slither of triumph.

She'd been able to perform a kido without saying the words for years now. It wasn't hard, exactly--you just lost a fair amount of power. There were ways to compensate. The key was to speak the words inside your head, to carve out every phrase inside your skull. It wasn't difficult, but it required a disciplined mind.

And if you had a very, _very_ disciplined mind, a mind like a card catalog with razor edges, as Nanao did, you could go a step farther.

She spoke the words for the fire kido, which needed to be dodged, but inside her skull, she formed the words for lightning.

It was painful. The spells fought with one another. It was a little like trying to walk and chew gum, when both ground and gum were trying to bite you. Still. Discipline. It was all about discipline.

The lightning came. Nanao snapped her teeth shut on the spoken kido, choking it off unfinished. Power exploded off her hands. Shunsui flung himself sideways automatically, expecting fire, and the lightning crackled after him and lashed across his body like a whip.

She didn't get nearly the force she wanted—it was a half-assed way to cast, god knows—but she had the satisfaction of hearing him grunt in surprise, and seeing his untidy ponytail stand briefly on end. Not a killing blow, but it certainly had to sting.

_That was worth it, right there…_

Nanao permitted herself a small, cold smile. The inside of her mouth tasted like gunpowder.

"Much bet—" he began, panting, and she dropped another fireball on him.

He got out of the way, barely. Nanao kept up the pressure, spell after spell, throwing in bindings occasionally to make him trip. Shunsui danced between the explosions like a drunken dervish, using flash occasionally when merely human speed failed.

_Come on, you bastard, one of us has to wear out first, and I've got two centuries of clean living behind me…_

He was quicker than she expected. He ducked behind her and actually got a spell of his own off, a bolt of red fire that was tinged a rather ridiculous shade of pink.

Nanao sniffed. The man might be fast, but his kido was nothing extraordinary—and _everybody_ used flash to step behind their opponent, it was a trick so old it predated books. She spun in place, slapped the spell aside with a contemptuous word, and felt it strike the ground beside her and gutter out like a wet firecracker.

From twenty feet away, she saw his eyebrow go up at that.

He tried it again, with similar results.

_You may be overrated, _dear_ Captain._

He flash-stepped again. She spun in place, and—_damn!_

Well, he learned from his mistakes, anyway. This time he'd come up in front of her, so that when she turned immediately, her back was to him. Her breath hissed through her teeth.

_Don't even bother with kido, idiot, I'm wide open, if this were a _real_ fight, you'd just crack me over the back of the head with your scabbard—_

Somehow it was almost more infuriating that he didn't. If she'd needed proof that the Captain of the Eighth wasn't taking her seriously, here it was in spades.

"Well," he said, practically in her ear, "I see that I'm not going to beat you on your own terms…"

There was a slithery, scraping sound of metal, and power washed over her, licking the back of her neck and arms, running down the backs of her calves. The sense of heat was as palpable if she stood with her back to a bonfire. She could smell a strange odor, sweet and bitter, like smoke and roses.

_Heh. And here I was complaining that he wasn't taking me seriously…_

Captain Shunsui had drawn his swords.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn't go for the strike at her back, but then, he didn't need to. Power rolled off the blades and set the air wavering like a heat mirage. He walked very calmly around her, faced her across the square, and bowed over the swords with utmost courtesy. Light shattered off the blades like heat lightning.

Nanao drew her sword.

It was a short blade, and she preferred to keep it in her sleeve whenever possible. Her zanpakutou, which she had always envisioned as a white owl with steel talons, came ghosting up through her consciousness in a wash of wings and power. For a moment, she could almost feel feathers against her skin.

_Shotozuku. _

_Mistress. Whom do we fight?_

_This man's swords._

There was a long, long silence. The sense of swords studying one another was very strong. Nanao wondered what Shunsui's blades were telling him.

_The flower god,_ said the white owl finally. _I cannot beat him, mistress. This is a foe beyond my strength._

_I know. I do not ask for victory. Just buy me time, friend._

_Unto death, mistress._ White wings spread and tested the air.

Shunsui waited, perfect in stillness.

Nanao could see movement out of the corner of her eye, the distinctive flicker-and-ozone-smell of flash. She turned her head a fraction. Black-clad bodies were appearing, one after another. They stood shoulder to shoulder, forming a vast circle around the practice field, eyes intent. Many of them were grinning. She looked around the circle and saw only the flash of teeth.

_God, they're like wolves. And I thought the Eleventh were crazy…_

The Eighth had felt their captain draw his swords, and had come immediately in response.

It was obvious that they had dropped whatever they were doing. Some of them were dripping wet, or had hair tousled from sleep. A few were carrying forgotten drinks in their hands. One poor young woman—even under the circumstances, Nanao could feel a pang of sympathy—had a strip of hot wax pressed along one bare leg and was undoubtedly going to pay a high price for her loyalty in a few minutes.

"Don't worry," said Shunsui, catching the flicker of her eyes. "They won't interfere."

"I doubt they'll need to," said Nanao dryly.

His lips curved up. "Embracing defeat already, lovely Nanao-chan?"

God, what she wouldn't give to wipe that smirk off his face! _Smug bastard…_ "My sword has told me that she can't beat yours."

"Ah…" He lowered his head until his eyes were in shadow. "Perhaps not. But Katen Kyokotsu tells me that yours is dangerous and very beautiful, and that he would be honored to cross with her."

Somewhere in the back of her head, Nanao felt Shotozuku preen.

_Gods above and below, not you too!_

_Sorry, mistress, but when he's right, he's right…_

"Attack, lovely Nanao-chan," he said, still smiling.

"Unless that was an order, I'd rather not, sir."

"Oh, come now…" The assembled Eighth watched with intent silence. "There's at least a hundred witnesses. You might even kill me, and then you'd be the captain. Would that be a rank commensurate with your talents, do you think?"

_If that bastard patronizes me one more time…_

_Give the order, mistress. I obey._

_Not yet…_

"Cold feet, Nanao-chan?"

She said nothing. She did not look at his eyes. People could lie with their eyes. She watched his hands instead.

He began stalking her, pacing in a circle. The man moved like a tiger for all his absurd dress. She circled, Shotozuku held in front of her, waiting.

He struck.

She'd been expecting it. His hands betrayed him, tightening on the hilts a fraction of a second before he moved, and Nanao flung herself out of the way. A direct strike with either blade would end the fight immediately. She felt the power lick over her face as she rolled, and the smell of smoke and flowers was very strong.

The long blade she could dodge. The short one was fast—too fast—and even as she dove past him, he snapped it down sideways to keep her from hamstringing him.

Shotozuku got in its way. There was a hard metallic slide as steel kissed steel, and then she was past and away, and she hadn't managed to cut him, but he hadn't managed to cut her either.

_So _fast_. He's stupidly fast for a man that size. Damn. You'd think all that debauchery would slow him down…Shotozuku? _

_Here, mistress. _The owl's voice was ragged._ His sword is very strong. I can block the small one perhaps twice more. The large one, once. Maybe. _

_Do your best._

"Going to attack, Nano-chan?"

"Not unless it's a direct order, sir."

He struck again. She flung demon magic at his feet, blunting the force of the charge, and that let her get out of the way of both blades without expending her zanpakutou's strength.

He didn't let her rest this time, but pushed the attack immediately. She backed away, keeping an eye on him, until she was practically up against the members of Eighth squad at her back.

_He can't do a full charge with them in the way. He'd kill his own squad if I dodged, and he knows I would…_

Apparently he did know it, because the next attack barely used the swords. He simply slammed into her shoulder-to-shoulder and forced her back into the ring with weight alone.

_Well, so much for that…_

"I think perhaps it is a direct order, Nanao-chan." He smiled. She was starting to get very sick of that smile. "Come on. Show me what you've got."

"Sir," she said, saluting him, because if one was going to fail, one might as well fail with dignity.

_Time to end this farce._

_Mistress, I cannot—unless--  
_

_No, Shotozuku. _There were some secrets Nanao intended to keep. _Here's what we're going to do…_

She threw herself into the attack, sword and demon magic both. Two swords came down at her, and Shotozuku, faithful blade, repelled them both with a scream of steel. For a moment, they were eye to eye, hilt to hilt, and he leaned forward, close enough to kiss, and she slammed her heel into his instep, which staggered him backwards, and put just a hint of pain into those amused brown eyes.

They both knew when the last exchange came. Certainly their swords did. She closed with him, and he swung both at once, and she gave one bark of brittle laughter and stepped _into_ the cut rather than away, flipping her blade up, between his arms, toward his face.

_You ordered me to attack, you bastard. If you kill me, I hope your conscience eats your heart out of your chest._

Katen Kyōkotsu came at her neck from both sides, and she wasn't getting out of the way. Nanao had the enormous satisfaction of seeing the amusement in Shunsui's eyes turn instantly to panic.

The twin swords came together in a great screech of metal as he did the only thing possible, turning the blades, snapping his wrists back brutally, and managed to block _himself_. His breath hissed through his teeth. She would bet money both his arms had gone numb to the elbow. The crossed blades spit sparks, which stung her skin, and a wind that stank of burning roses whirled around them. The air was full of fire and dust.

When the dust settled, they still stood, frozen in a tableau. His two swords were crossed, directly at her throat, without a quarter inch to spare. Hers was a few inches from his left ear, hanging suspended in space—but then, _he_ hadn't been the target.

The strap of that stupid hat fluttered, sliced cleanly in half, and it slid gently off his head and hit the ground.

The Eighth went wild. Roars of something—outrage? Approval? How could you tell?—surged around them.

"Are you _suicidal?_" he asked, under the cover of the shouting.

"Not particularly. Sir." Nanao felt immensely pleased. He sounded almost shaken.

She wasn't suicidal. Not quite. She suspected that it wasn't far off, but she wasn't there yet.

"How did you know I wouldn't kill you?"

"I didn't." She bared her teeth at him. "You ordered me to attack. Sir."

He looked at her for a long, long moment, shaking his head, then drew his blades away. She felt a faint itch at her neck that meant she was probably bleeding, but damned if she'd give him the satisfaction of wiping it away.

Shunsui bent down and retrieved his hat. The Eighth surged forward, closing in around her. For a moment she tensed, expecting—the gods know what she was expecting—but the first one reached her and shouted "That was amazing!" and someone slapped her on the back, and she realized that far from bearing her any malice, she'd won their respect.

_Huh._

The Captain turned back to her, holding his hat in his hands. He didn't look the least bit lazy now. He took a step forward—the crowd parted—and looked down at her thoughtfully.

_You've had your fun. Let me go. You've proved you can beat me, fine. I'm late for two interviews already. _

"I think," he said dryly, "that I had better have you very close, if I'm going to keep an eye on you. Welcome to the Eighth—"

_Wait—what?_

"—Vice-Captain Ise."

_What? But I didn't…I didn't want…_

The Eighth Division—her division—cheered wildly. Someone hugged her. She held her sword up out of the way of the crowd, too baffled even to protest, and watched her new captain stroll away, humming.

* * *

Nanao's zanpakuto is pure invention on my part, and its name is a combination of "short sword" and "owl," (specifically an eared owl) which so far as I know has no actual meaning of any sort. (My years of studying Japanese are long behind me. I retained the swear words and a couple of nouns, alas...) 


	3. Chapter 3

Captain Shunsui was consulting with his sixth seated officer.

Actually, this wasn't true. He was thinking about his new vice-captain, and his sixth was talking over his head.

Sixth was a tough, stocky woman with iron-gray hair that belied the youthfulness of her face. She'd been the sixth-seat for most of a century, and nobody could actually remember her real name. Shunsui had offered to promote her any number of times, but she generally refused on the grounds that she was Sixth, everybody was clear on that, and if she suddenly became Third, there'd be a lot of confusion and she'd have to get all her monogrammed towels redone.

She'd survived in the Eighth a lot longer than most of the other female officers by virtue of having no interest in men in general or Shunsui in particular, which he respected. They worked together very well, not least because they had similar tastes in women.

"You've got two staff meetings this week. One of them you can blow off, the other you'd better make time for."

"Mark it on my calendar." He propped his chin in his hand, eyes half-lidded. It had been a pure aesthetic pleasure to watch Nanao fight, all elegance, not a movement wasted. She was like a perfect haiku. With pointy bits. That threw fire.

"Our patrol schedule's up."

"Great." She'd been particularly lovely on that last encounter, sweat slicking her skin, hair falling loose, and still with her eyes the color of arctic ice. He could feel the coolness radiating off her, like a stream fed by snow-melt, cold even in midsummer.

"We're taking the far watch next week."

"Mmph. Suppose it's our turn again." He wondered what it would take to shake that coolness. The ice had cracked twice—once when he'd nearly taken her head off, and he saw an almost feral satisfaction in her eyes at his alarm, and once before in his office, all pride and terror.

"Next, the sake bill is coming due again."

"Pay it." Mind you, he didn't much care for the terror. Shunsui was not a man who liked to see fear in women's eyes. Still, it wasn't like she didn't have a good excuse. If he'd been serving under Gin for that long, he'd probably be a little 'round the bend himself. _A few years in the Eighth, she'll be as cavalier as the rest of us._

_Probably._

He had to admit, he was having a hard time imagining Ise Nanao being cavalier about anything. Still.

"And the heating bill…"

"Sake bill first. We can wear sweaters." Her ability to keep calm, even under such provocation, meant she was probably excellent officer material, even if it _did_ make him want to aggravate her just to see what lay underneath. Such desires had always been one of his personal failings.

"As usual…Finally," said Sixth, "your new Vice-Captain has a number of requirements."

She did, didn't she? Kissing was definitely required. Often enough and passionately enough that the fear faded and she thawed and melted against him like ice in the sun….

"Sir? About the Vice-Captain?" Sixth leaned over and snapped her fingers in front of her captain's face. "Sir?"

"Mmmm….have her dipped in chocolate and sent to my quarters…" Shunsui said dreamily, his eyes lidding over completely.

Sixth's lips twitched. "Sorry, Captain, I really don't have the authority, much as I sympathize with the sentiment."

"Lord, I know. It's the eyes."

"She has very nice eyes, sir. If a bit…frosty."

"Mmmm…." A horrible thought stuck him. "Err—Sixth—you don't think—" He made a vague hand gesture that conveyed a great deal without actually indicating anything in specific.

"Don't I _wish._" Sixth rolled her eyes. "No, she doesn't give off the vibe. I don't think she likes women. I'm just not sure she's that interested in men, either."

"You have an astonishing capacity to raise my hopes and then destroy them in a single sentence, Sixth."

"I live to serve, Captain."

Shunsui pushed the fantasy away with a regretful sigh. "What is she requiring, anyway?"

"It's the Vice-Captain's quarters, sir."

"What? What's wrong with them?"

"Nothing, sir…except that you annexed them about twenty years ago to hold your art collection, book collection, and the overflow from your wardrobe."

"Oh….right…" He stood up, sighing. "Call somebody in with some boxes. I'll go get it sorted out."

* * *

Nanao knelt in the center of what were supposed to be her new quarters, and reached for calm.

Calm did not particularly want to come. Nanao wiped her palms across her thighs and reached for it again.

_I am stillness. I am water. I am stone. I am nothingness. _

_I am calm._

_I am calm._

_I will proceed calmly._

_I am going to calmly wring my new Captain's pervy goddamn _neck…

Shunsui had a hell of an art collection…for a given value of art. Apparently he was an aficionado of _shunga. _That _particular _art form was not something one wanted to walk into a room and come face to face with, if one wasn't prepared. She'd entered the room, gotten an eyeful, yelped, looked immediately away, gotten another eyeful on the opposite wall, and jerked her gaze to the rafters. That, at least, was safe. He apparently hadn't thought to extend the art collection to the ceiling.

_I should probably be grateful he didn't install mirrors on it. _

She'd staggered out of the antechamber, holding a hand in front of her face to shield herself from the art, and discovered that her bedroom had also been invaded. Her futon was buried under a pile of haoris in a dozen shades (all of them related to pink, except for one rather nice sage green one near the bottom.) The closet was likewise full. Books filled the corners of the room. That would have been acceptable, but after her encounter with the art, she didn't really want to inquire too closely as to his reading tastes.

There were footsteps in the hall. Nanao opened her eyes, calm only barely attained, and watched her new Captain waltz into the room.

"Nanao-chan!" He beamed.

She looked from him, to the art, to more of the art, to him, to something that could only be called art if you were exceedingly open-minded, and back to him. She didn't quite trust herself to speak.

Apparently her expression spoke volumes, even so.

"But Nanao-chan…it's art!" he said, hurt.

"Sir." It was astonishing how much disapproval Nanao could pack into a single syllable. She rose to her feet and took a deep breath, then let it out very slowly.

"Some of these are very rare! Only ten of that one were ever made!" He gestured to one. Nanao turned her head, got an eye-searing look—what was that couple _doing?_ Was that even anatomically _possible?_—and carefully turned her head away again.

_Actually, I rather like that one, mistress._

_You're an animate sword, Shotozuku. Human pornography should not interest you. _

_I like the colors. _

Nanao wondered when exactly her life had gotten out of hand.

"Don't tell me that my new Vice-Captain is a Philistine," said Shunsui.

That stung her pride. Nanao's chin came up. "Sir. I can tell you that it's a Hokusai—"

"They're all Hokusais, actually."

"—and the composition is excellent," Nanao continued doggedly. "And that your print of _The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife _appears to be a first edition and would be better suited to a museum. However, I do not wish to live with _either_ in my quarters. Sir."

He grinned. "So what kind of art do you like?"

She gazed at the ceiling and prayed for strength.

"I bet my lovely Nanao-chan is a minimalist…"

"Yet again," said Nanao, staring grimly through him, "I must ask you to discontinue this disrespectful form of address. Sir."

"You're so cute when you're standing on protocol."

There didn't seem to be anything to say to that. She plowed ahead. "Your wardrobe also seems to be stored in the bedroom, sir."

"Right, right…I'll get that moved."

"Finally, sir, there is the matter of the door…"

"Door?" He glanced over his shoulder. "What's wrong with it?"

"Not that door, sir. The one that appears to be connecting our quarters." She extended a hand and pointed into the bedroom. Shunsui ducked his head around a screen, saw the door in the wall, and winced. "Oh…right…_that_ door. I had that added awhile back…my wardrobe was in here, and I thought it would be better not to have to duck out into the hallway to get dressed…"

"Doubtless wise, sir," said Nanao. She rubbed a hand over her face. "Sir," she said finally, aware of the strain in her voice, "you seem to be settled here. If you can just find me some other quarters, I don't wish to inconvenience you." _The gods only know how long I'll actually be here. _

"Nonsense, Nanao-chan." He waved a hand. "These are the Vice-Captain's quarters. If the Eighth is going to have a Vice-Captain again, they'll need to be cleaned out." He dropped a hand on her shoulder. She waited as stoically as a martyr facing torture. "Go and have some lunch. Gather up your things from Third. The place will be cleaned out before you get back."

"Sir," she said, and fled.

* * *

_Shunga _is a classical Japanese erotic art form from the 16th century onward that...well...I don't suggest googling for it at work, anyway. Primarily woodblock prints, or ukiyo-e, _shunga_ was extremely popular and often incredibly graphic. In defense of our hero's artistic tastes, it was considered a perfectly legitimate art form of the time, and many of the greatest ukiyo-e artists turned their hand to it. Many examples of _shunga_, particularly by masters like Katsushika Hokusai, are really quite gorgeous artistically--they're genuinely beautiful pieces, they're just not for the faint of heart. (There's actually quite an interesting cultural history about _shunga,_ the acceptance thereof, attempts at censorship, and whatnot. S'worth reading.)

The 1820 piece, _The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife _by Hokusaiis notable for being both a nifty example of ukiyo-e work, and quite possibly the first example of tentacle porn in human history.

See, I told you there'd be random art history...


	4. Chapter 4

"So. A new Vice-Captain, hmmm?" Ukitate, Shunsui's oldest and dearest friend, raised one pale eyebrow.

"Yes. She's quite mad."

"Should fit in beautifully with the rest of your crew, then."

"Hmm. I'm not so sure…." Shunsui tapped a fingernail against his teeth.

Ukitate gave him a surprised look. "You're not sure? Then why'd you hire her?"

"Either you or I had to take her."

They were walking down one of the many streets of Seireitei, in no particular direction. Shunsui made a left turn, and Ukitate followed. "Dare I ask why?"

Shunsui shot him a quick glance from under the brim of his hat. "To get her away from Gin, obviously," he murmured

"Ah. Understood." They strolled along a little farther. Ukitate discovered that he was gripping the hilt of his sword, and carefully removed his fingers. "So what's she like?"

Shunsui frowned. "Smart. Prickly. Scared to death. Doesn't much like to be touched."

A line formed between Ukitate's eyes. "Doesn't…huh. You don't think…?"

"No, I don't." Shunsui shook his head. "If I did, I'd send her off to Komamura, no questions asked."

The slums outside of Seireitei were a rough place. A great many women, and no few numbers of men came out with scars. A disproportionate number of those shinigami survivors gravitated to the Seventh Divison, and an inhuman captain that understood privacy and the need for stillness. The grim-eyed women who formed the fighting core of the Seventh were polite, soft-spoken, and absolutely ruthless in combat. Shunsui treated them with the courtesy he would have given his own sisters, kept his hands firmly to himself, and prayed devoutly that he would never _ever _have to face them across a battlefield.

"I don't get that impression. She's a trapped rat, not a wounded bird." He turned down another corridor, and Ukitate hurried to keep pace. "There's a damn fine officer in there, under the panic. I'm guessing that Gin's been leaning on her, and she's smart enough to see that she needs out now, before it gets any further out of hand."

"Gin always did like to play with his prey," murmured Ukitate.

"Quite." Shunsui turned down another alley. Their sandals made soft slapping sounds against the street. "She follows orders a little _too _well. It's…worrisome."

"Only _you_ would complain about that."

"You didn't see her throw herself on my swords because I'd ordered her to attack."

"Hmm." Ukitate folded his hands inside his sleeves. "Have you considered that she might be a spy?"

"Naturally."

"And…?"

"Mmmm. Fifty-fifty shot, I'd say. But if she's that good an actor, she deserves whatever she can get." He flashed a quick grin, there and gone, like lightning.

Ukitate rolled his eyes. "Why Vice-Captain, though? You can't keep one of those for ten minutes straight."

Shunsui shrugged. "I thought she'd be good at it."

"One of your hunches?"

"If you like."

Ukitate eyed his friend, amused, as they crossed an empty courtyard. "Oh, let me guess…she's beautiful, I suppose?"

Shunsui considered. "Elegant, rather."

"Elegant's not quite the same as beautiful."

"No, but it lasts longer."

They kept walking.

"It occurs to me," said Ukitate after a few more turns, "that we seem to be headed in the direction of Third Division."

"Astonishing how that works out…"

"Any particular reason?"

"My dear Ukitate, I have stolen a prize from under a fellow Captain's very nose. Courtesy dictates that I go and make the appropriate apologies for having appropriated one of his officers." He tipped his hat up with a finger.

"And yet, somehow I seem to be going with you."

"You're a good friend."

"Apparently so…" Ukitate took an unobtrusive glance around him, saw no one, but decided not to say anything aloud anyway. You never knew who was listening.

Fine. Shunsui wanted a witness. So be it.

They paused outside the walls of the Third Division's compound. Shunsui took a slug of the sake bottle at his waist, slapped a little on his jawline like an aftershave—Ukitate rolled his eyes heavenward—and smiled his broad, foolish smile. "Well? How do I look?"

"Drunk and harmless."

"Excellent." He staggered artistically around the corner and through the gate.

_I am never entirely sure if I am his keeper or his accomplice…_ Ukitate thought, bemused, and followed in Shunsui's wake.

* * *

Three boxes. Not much to show for two hundred years of life, or afterlife, or whatever the hell she was living. Nanao stood back and eyed her bare room. Depressingly, except for the empty closet, it didn't look all that much different than when she had lived there.

_Oh, well. Travel light. All you need in life is a good book, a sharp sword, and a decent cup of tea… _

There was a creak of floorboards. Nanao turned, and saw the person in the world that she least wanted to see.

Captain Ichimaru Gin smiled from the doorway.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. As if to compensate, her heart sank down to her toes and stayed there.

_Well._

_You had to face him sooner or later. You couldn't leave the division without handing in your transfer papers. This was inevitable._

Its inevitability did not make it any less unnerving.

"So. My fourth officer done got promoted. Vice-Captain. Ain't that something…?" He glided into the room like oil. His footsteps made no sound. Nanao guessed that he'd made the floorboard creak deliberately, just so that she'd have a little longer to savor the terror.

"Sir."

"Any particular reason you're leavin' us, Ise?" He advanced smoothly. She fought the urge to retreat—he'd just get her into a corner, and then even the illusion of escape would be gone.

"Sir. There was an opening of the Vice-Captain's rank in the Eighth." _Bless that obnoxious Shunsui, it is a _beautiful_ excuse…_

Gin did not look to be in the mood for excuses. Years of serving under a captain who smiled _all the time_ had rendered Nanao skilled at detecting the faintest nuances in expression, the hairsbreadth shift in tightness under the eyes and at the corners of the mouth.

She knew the current expression. It was a rare one, but no one in the Third forgot it once they'd seen it.

Ichimaru Gin was extremely annoyed.

Nanao fought to keep from shaking. _Don't be stupid. Don't be stupid. It's not like he can kill you or anything, you're in another division now, there'd be questions…_

_Yeah, but does _he_ know that?_

"So that's your reason, hmm? You went and got ambitious on me?"

"Sir." He was much, much too close, mere inches away. Her skin crawled. She was sure he did it deliberately. Gin had figured out her need for personal space years ago, and had been standing a little too close to her ever since, just to keep her constantly backing away.

_Don't move, don't move, he's like a snake, if you don't move, he still might strike but if you do, he will for sure--_

The snake struck. Delicate fingers closed over her jaw, applying pressure at a point on the hinge, the most pain for the least amount of effort. Nanao's chin came up involuntarily and she had to meet his eyes.

_What is it with men wanting me to look in their eyes today?_

"I think…" he purred, "that you had best be rememberin' where your loyalty lies…"

"Sir," she said, praying that he would read whatever he wanted to read into that single word, and let her go.

Unfortunately, he did not. His fingers tightened. The smallest hiss broke out of her at the unexpected pain, and his smile got even broader. "Ise, Ise…" He shook his head and clucked his tongue.

"Sir."

_Speak the word, mistress!_ In her mind's eye, the white owl shifted agitatedly from foot to foot and mantled her wings.

_No. _You did not attack captains. It didn't matter what they were doing. You gritted your teeth and you applied for a transfer and you prayed like hell they'd forget you existed. You never, _ever_ fought back.

_But mistress, I could—_

_No!_

"Happens I may want to come check up on you from time to time. Make sure you're fitting into the Eighth." The already narrowed eyes vanished into slits. "I'm sure you'll be makin' time to see me, hmm?"

"Sir."

He wasn't fooled. He leaned in. She was standing practically on her toes now, a bright shrill of pain running down her neck.

"'Yes, Captain,' is the answer I'm lookin' for, Ise…"

She swallowed. In a minute, she'd have to say something. She had no idea what. She hoped it would be defiant, and was rather glumly afraid that it would be total surrender.

_Escape was a nice thought, but I suppose it was just too late. Left it too long. I should have run years ago, then maybe I'd have had a chance…_

Nanao gathered her wits, drew a deep breath—and smelled roses.

"So that's where my adorable Nanao-chan has gotten to-o-o!"

Gin recoiled like a startled cobra, dropping her. Shunsui staggered into the room and flung a companionable arm around both of them. In the doorway, a white-haired figure that looked like Captain Ukitate of the Thirteenth put a hand over his eyes in disbelief.

Relief left her feeling as wrung out and limp as an old dishrag. Her new Captain reeked of sake—gods, had he been _bathing_ in it?—and he was grinning like an idiot. Nanao had never been as glad to see anyone in her entire life.

_I could kiss you right now, you obnoxious pink-wearing bastard…_

_I could ask his sword if that was appropriate, mistress—_

_NO! Er. Quite alright, Shotozuku, figure of mental speech, please don't…err…wait, you can do that?_

_Oh, yes. For one of our kind, the flower god is very chatty._

Her old Captain shook off the arm around his shoulders without ever losing his smile, but Nanao could recognize the tightness around his eyes. Gin was feeling thwarted. "Aaah, Shunsui, you old drunk…"

Deprived of the crutch, Shunsui staggered artfully and dropped most of his weight on Nanao's shoulders. She shifted hastily to take the burden—one might not like to be touched, one might occasionally want to kick one's Captain's teeth in, but one did _not_ drop him.

Funny…either Shunsui was a lot lighter than he looked, or he was standing upright pretty well on his own, no matter what it looked like.

She looked up into his face, startled. He glanced down at her, and one eyelid flickered in the merest suggestion of a wink.

_Oh, sweet gods, it's a rescue._

Gratitude flashed across her brain, found itself in unfamiliar surroundings, and looked around nervously, wringing its hands.

"I've been looking for youuuu….I came to apolo…apo…say I'm sorry, Gin!" said Shunsui, with an enthusiastic wave of the sake bottle that nearly took Nanao's nose off.

"And what would you have to be sorry for, hmm?"

"Why, for stealing my lovely Nanao-chan, of course!" He pulled her into a tight hug. A stubbly chin scraped across the top of her head. Nanao winced.

Gin's smile was back in full force. "Aaah, you don't need to be sorry for nothin'."

"But she's so cuuuute—!"

Nanao began to wonder if the rescue was actually worth it. In the doorway, Ukitate had pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and was shaking his head in silent horror.

"Don't you worry." Gin's eyes were bright with malice. "I was done with her anyway."

He turned away. The arm around Nanao tightened. In the doorway, Ukitate's fingers drifted, ever so casually, over the hilt of his sword.

Shunsui was saying something else—something stupid, something drunk and meaningless—but Nanao couldn't quite make it out over the roaring in her ears. Red claws sank into her brain as fear trembled into rage.

_How _dare_ he…_

She had just enough sense to keep her mouth shut, because one did not insult superior officers, or demand to know what the hell they were implying. Gin slithered out of the room like a pale serpent, to the accompaniment of Shunsui's babble and Nanao's deathly silence.

As soon as he was gone, Shunsui straightened, although he kept an arm around her shoulders. "All right," he said, in a far more sober tone. "Do you have anything left here?"

_What the…was that all an act? Is he even drunk at all?_

"A couple of boxes," she said. "They're all packed."

He nodded. "I'll send someone for them." His arm dropped to her waist and he pulled her close—Nanao stiffened—and then there was a familiar blurring, a sense of the world skipping a beat, and they stood outside, on the opposite roofline. A moment later Ukitate appeared a few feet away.

"Well," said the white-haired captain, exchanging a long look with Shunsui. "That was…educational."

"Wasn't it, though?" Their eyes locked over Nanao's head. She had a sense of a great deal of information being exchanged, without either of them saying a word.

"You don't think…" Ukitate began.

"I'm not ruling anything out."

"If…"

"No."

"If you'd like me to leave so that you can use actual sentences, I'd be happy to," said Nanao testily, squirming out from under Shunsui's arm. "Sir."

Shunsui grinned. "Sorry, sweet Nanao-chan. No. Walk with us." He leapt lightly down to the street. Ukitate gestured politely for her to follow.

She glanced at him, bemused—she hadn't ever had more than passing contact with the captain of the Thirteenth—and he gave her a wry smile, flicked his eyes down after Shunsui, and shook his head, as if they were both parents of a particularly enthusiastic toddler. Nanao fond herself oddly warmed by the gesture, and gave him half a smile back, before jumping down to the street.

She realized within about two steps that they were going to escort her all the way back to the Eighth compound, and felt herself flush. Did they really think that it took two of the most powerful captains in Seireitei to get her back in one piece?

Apparently they did. They were most of the way back to the Eighth's compound when her captain turned suddenly into an alleyway. He glanced around and up, then over at Ukitate, who nodded.

"Nanao-chan," Shunsui said, in a quiet voice, as sober as anyone she'd ever heard, "this is a direct order. It can be countermanded only by myself."

Ukitate cleared his throat. Shunsui rolled his eyes. "Fine, or Jyuushiro. By no other captains. Do you understand?"

Nanao nodded, baffled. She put a hand in her sleeve, not to draw Shotozuku, but simply to feel the comfort of her presence.

Shunsui's eyes bored into her. "You are not to go to the Third Division compound again. Certainly not alone. I should not have let you go alone this time—my own foolishness, and you paid the price. For that I apologize." He bowed his head.

"Sir," she said, baffled.

Apparently that satisfied him. "If you must deliver a message, give it to one of the Eighth. If you absolutely must go in person, take one of them with you. Sixth would be a good choice, she's broken the teeth of better men than—"

Ukitate cleared his throat warningly.

"—right." Shunsui smoothed down the folds of his haori. "If—another captain—orders you there, find Ukitate or I at once. We'll cover for you." His eyes were dark and clear as old whiskey. "Do you understand?"

Hope seized her so strongly that it felt like terror for a minute, grabbing her by the throat, stealing her breath.

_He knows. He understands. Oh, sweet god, he really understands what Gin is like. _

"Sir," she said hoarsely, and bowed.

He searched her face for a moment, then grinned abruptly. "Sweet Nanao-chan!" and swept her up into a ferocious hug. She sputtered.

"_Sir—!"_

"So cuuute!" And next to her ear, so softly that not even Ukitate could hear it, "Avoid Gin at all costs. I'll take full responsibility."

Nanao elbowed her way free and gave him a glare that was only about half-serious. "That is not appropriate behavior, sir."

"Mmmm. But I trust I made myself clear, sweet Nanao-chan…"

"Abundantly, sir." She brushed herself off ostentatiously, bowed politely. "Captains," and turned and walked through the gate to the Eighth.

She was careful to walk with absolute dignity, with an expression of distant annoyance on her face, so that no one could tell that inside, her heart felt absurdly light.

* * *

There was one more surprise waiting for her.

The Vice-Captain's rooms were cleared. The art and the piles of haoris were gone. The connecting door was closed, and over it, someone had hung a painted scroll. It was elegant and restrained, simple brushstrokes defining the shape of a tree. On the topmost branch were a half dozen sweeping lines, in the shape of a watching owl.

_I bet my lovely Nanao-chan is a minimalist…_

She sat down on the futon, too baffled to know what to think.

There was an open book on the low table beside the bed. Nanao picked it up. A collection of the haiku of Issa, open to a page near the middle. _Well, at least he has acceptable taste in poetry…_

She pushed her glasses up, and read the first poem.

_Never forget,  
we stroll along the roof of hell  
gazing at flowers._

"Huh," said Nanao aloud.

After two hundred years, Ise Nanao no longer believed in altruism.

_What does he want?__He and Ukitate obviously know something about Gin, but what? Was that a rescue or a set-up? Captain Ukitate said it was "educational," but what did they learn from it? _

_Shunsui's not the idiot he looks, fine, but what _is_ he?_

_And what does he want from _me?

She slumped back, spine hitting the wall, and wondered if she was finally free, or if she'd exchanged an iron cage for one hung around with roses.


	5. Chapter 5

The best part of fan fiction, if you ask me, is the ability to write absolutely shameless fluff and feel no guilt whatsoever.

Well, very little guilt. Marginal. Small amounts. Thing.

* * *

Over the next week, Nanao found herself settling into a routine. 

Sort of.

She got up at dawn every morning, led a round of training exercises with the other early risers—more tai-chi than sparring, really—then had a light breakfast in the Eighth's dining hall. Breakfast was a quiet affair, largely because the Eighth had a reputation to maintain as the hardest drinking division in Seireitei, and about forty percent of the squad was nursing a hangover at any given time.

This was fine with Nanao. She took the opportunity to drink vast quantities of green tea, because breakfast was about the only quiet time she was going to get all day, and she ate with a voracity that was surprising in someone so bird-like, because it was also the only meal she was guaranteed to get on time.

The Eighth…was something else.

They were _exuberant._ They flung themselves into sparring, not with the psychotic violence of the Eleventh, but with a sort of demented enthusiasm that was almost alarming. They were quick learners, she'd give them that, they tackled her kido classes with the same deranged glee that they tackled everything, they were just so…_different._

In the Third, you kept quiet and still and restrained, balanced on a knife-edge between the hope that your captain would notice you and the terror that he actually might. You kept your cool and you tried to pretend that nothing bothered you, and you kept an eye on everybody else _at all times._

In the Eighth, apparently, you blew things up with kido as dramatically as possible, and then laughed hysterically about it. You attempted flashy sword moves, failed wildly, and had to be carried off to Fourth by your delighted comrades. And you drank a great deal. And when your Captain came out to drills, you mobbed him like a pack of enthusiastic puppies.

Of course, _getting_ the Captain out to sword drills was something else. Nanao had discovered that about two thirds of her job was keeping track of Shunsui.

He slept between twelve and sixteen hours a day. He drank. His idea of doing paperwork was to stamp a blank form and hand it to her to fill out. (It was a good thing she was honest. It was a better thing that Sixth was honest—so far as Nanao could tell, the other woman could have amassed an incredible private fortune if she were inclined to graft.)

He was also astonishingly good at hiding, so that she spent a large part of the day when she wasn't doing kido training and administrative duties trying to find him to get things signed, or remind him about meetings, or drag him out to sword drills. She learned the location of every maple tree in a five mile radius, since he was generally under—or occasionally in—one of them. (According to Sixth, it varied by season—spring was cherry trees, summer was myrtle, autumn was maple, and in winter you checked the teahouses.)

He was very good once he was there, she had to admit, he had power and finesse and was an excellent teacher, but getting him to the practice ground was like pulling teeth. Linear time, to Shunsui, was something that happened to other people.

"How do you get him anywhere?" she asked Sixth, after about three days of this.

"Nag him. Badger him. Guilt-trip him. Hit him occasionally. If none of that works, you can try leaving a trail of sake behind you."

The sake might work. She'd never seen anyone drink so much and walk reasonably upright. If someone had told her that the released form of his bankai was a functional liver, she would have believed them. He came home at the small hours of the night, _every _night, usually singing. Nanao got used to waking up at least once during the night, usually to a rousing chorus of "Whiskey in the Jar," or "O Danny Boy," (and on one truly nightmarish occasion, "It's Rainin' Men.") Shunsui actually had quite a pleasant barroom baritone, if mediocre taste in music, he just couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, and he was always forgetting the words.

Last night, it had been long past midnight when there were footsteps in the hall, and he came in, caroling. Nanao put her pillow over her head. One day she'd find the people who decided on paper walls as an integral part of architecture, and she'd hand them their ears on a plate.

"Oh, as I was goin' over…someplace…thing…mountain…"

_Thud. _(Door, thought Nanao.)

"I met with…someone or other…and his money, he was countin'…"

_Thunk. Thunk. _(And there's the sandals…)_  
_

"I first produced my…damnit. Hmm hmm hmm, first produced my—what the hell did I produce?"

_Tink. Tink_. (Swords, being set carefully by the bedside. Credit where it was due, he never mistreated his swords, no matter how drunk he got.)

"First produced my…Okay, I met with someone or other, and his money he was countin', right, and then I produced something or other. Hmm."

There was a drawn out rustling, as he shed clothes, and then he started up again, "Oh, as I was goin' over—"

"Pistol!" yelled Nanao through the wall, completely unable to face the thought of it beginning all over again.

"Pistol! Right! My lovely Nanao-chan takes such good care of me…" She heard him thump down on the other side of the wall, and hum a few bars. "I first produced my pistol, then produced my…um…"

"Rapier, sir," called Nanao grimly, determined to get back to sleep before dawn.

"And then produced my rapier—Nanao-chan, why I am I using a pistol and rapier? I have a perfectly good pair of zanpakuto…"

"Because it's a folk song. Sir."

"Oh, _right…" _There was a long silence, and Nanao dared to hope that he might have fallen asleep already.

"Nanao-chan?"

"Sir?"

"You should be asleep. It's not healthy to be up so late."

Nanao gritted her teeth. "Right you are, sir…"

"I could sing you to sleep, Nanao-chan."

"Please don't trouble yourself, sir."

Long after he'd begun snoring, Nanao lay in the dark, staring up at the dim ceiling. This was her life now. A greater difference than the silent, charged halls of the Third could not easily be imagined. Shunsui hadn't asked her to spy on _anyone._ If anyone was keeping tabs on her, she hadn't noticed, and Nanao's paranoia was honed as sharp as her sword.

It was madness. It was insanity. But day kept following day, and nothing terrible happened, and if this was a cage, the bars had yet to close in.

Nanao was astonished to find that she was enjoying herself.

She was good at it. She brought order to chaos (and there was so very much chaos.) And people were actually _grateful_ for what she did. She'd ironed out a knot in paperwork the other day that had had the tenth seat drawing half-pay for six months, and the boy had been so overcome he'd actually picked her up and hugged her, then turned bright red and fled the room. She'd shown one of the trainees how to do a particular kido, an odd little binding with a twist, and the next day, half the squad had turned up to learn it, including ones who were generally sword-swingers. The lesson had gone on four hours and she'd missed lunch, and Shunsui had actually put on an appearance to take over the afternoon sword drill and order her to go take a nap, and—this was the really crazy bit—_everybody thought this sort of thing was normal._

She was almost _happy_, and she didn't quite dare to be, for fear something would take it all away. She kept listening for the snake's hiss under the smile.

Nanao fell asleep, still waiting for a sound that wasn't coming.

* * *

Captain Shunsui woke in the middle of the night because something in the next room had exploded. 

He leapt to his feet, grabbed one of his swords, threw his haori on—once the explosion was over, the two seconds spent putting _something_ on was rarely critical, and tended to save a lot of embarrassment later on—and fumbled at the connecting door to his Vice-Captain's quarters.

He was fighting his way past the scroll painting when fire crackled past his feet and hit the wall. It splashed sparks across the floor, and he stamped them out frantically.

_What the devil is going on here…?_

Shunsui looked around wildly for an attacker, and didn't find one. Nanao was in bed, tangled in the sheets, one hand stretched out over the edge of the futon. Her eyes were closed, and her fingers were dripping flame.

_Is she casting in her _sleep?

Apparently she was. She mumbled something, feet scrabbling at the sheet like a dreaming puppy, and the fire grew, turning red, then deepening to a sullen purple, like a fresh bruise.

Shunsui had heard of this sort of thing happening—you got it in some of the recruits occasionally, when they first started learning demon magic, particularly the ones with a history of sleepwalking—but he'd never seen it in someone as disciplined as Ise Nanao.

The energy was running less like fire and more like water, dripping off her hand and forming a smoking pool along the floor. A spark caught on the edge of her futon. Shunsui dove for it, slapping it out with the edge of his haori and a stifled curse.

_Gods and demons, she'll burn the whole place down around our ears…_

Nanao thrashed again. Lightning wrapped itself around the ball of flame and licked through it like a glittering serpent. The hair on his arms prickled warningly.

_Crap._ Shunsui did the only thing he could think of, and threw power around her as if she really were the rawest of recruits and about to blow herself up, smothering her own reiatsu under his. There was no particular skill to it, it was one of those automatic reflexes captains developed after awhile, like grabbing for a glass before it went over. _Oh, look, one of the juniors is about to lose control of that spell, better catch it, quick!_

It was a lot easier with a junior than with a kido master. By the time the fire winked out a moment later, Shunsui's head felt like he'd just been on a three-day bender.

He rubbed at his temples, wincing. _Well. That was exciting. Next order of business…_

Nanao was still asleep, but obviously agitated. She flexed her fingers, reaching for spells that were no longer coming. Her hair lay over her face, but he could see the delicate eyebrows knit in a frown.

_Well, if she's having a nightmare, now she's having one where she can't use demon magic. Lovely._

He debated waking her up, and decided against it. In the first place, if she woke up panicked, she might attack him, and while he was fairly sure he'd survive the experience, the room might not. In the second place, he'd then have to explain why he was in her room, wearing nothing but an inadequately belted haori and carrying a sword, and that would be awkward.

In the third place, apparently Nanao slept in the nude, and that would take the awkwardness to a whole new level.

_Nice view, though. Raowr. _Granted, she was asleep on her stomach, but the sheet was low around her hips, and he liked what he saw. Ah, well… _Down, boy. _Shunsui preferred not to bother sleeping women unless he was _very_ sure of his welcome.

Fortunately, the source of her nightmare was at least partially obvious. The sheets had gotten tangled up around her, trapping her feet at an awkward angle. The more she flailed, the tighter they got.

_Well, that's easily fixed…_

He coaxed the end free and got her loose. The thrashing slowed. She mumbled something more and rolled over to face the wall, pulling the blanket close to her chest.

He started to withdraw the shield, saw a warning glow around her fingers, and put it back up again.

_Damn. Guess she's not settled yet. Must be some nightmare._

Well, it wasn't all that surprising. The gods only knew what her last few months in the Third had been like—once Gin took a personal interest in someone, he could generally have them swearing that up was down and black was white inside of six weeks. It wasn't unusual that all that tension would come out now. Shunsui had known plenty of people who could survive a brutal patrol in the field without batting an eyelash, then went to pieces when they got back within safe walls.

_Poor kid..._

He reached out hesitantly and rubbed her back, like a child's. The skin between her shoulderblades was damp with sweat, and he could feel each delicate knob of her spine.

_Obviously we need to get her eating more, too. I know she skips lunch half the time. I suppose I could order her to eat, but that's a little heavy-handed…_

She cursed abruptly in her sleep, the word clear and surprisingly foul.

"Hush, Nanao," he murmured. "You're having a bad dream. It isn't real…"

* * *

Nanao dreamed of closing corridors and blind alleys. 

There was something pursuing her, some nameless thing in the dark. She suspected it was smiling, but she would die before she turned around to look. She had to run, to flee, to throw spells behind her and hope it slowed pursuit.

The alleys were narrow and twisting. The ceilings got lower and lower, and the walls squeezed in. Soon she'd be going on all fours, trying to find a place where the pursuer would not follow.

She could hear it breathing behind her, a panting that modulated unpleasantly like laughter.

Even kido was failing her. She screamed words, and nothing happened. Her throat was closing up. She had nothing else. She could not find her sword. Shotozuku was lost somewhere in the dark. She was going to die, or worse, she was going to _break—_

_Hush, Nanao._

What?

_You're having a bad dream. It isn't real. Hush._

A dream?

_Shhhh…it's okay. It isn't really happening. _

All this, a dream?

_Shhh…_

No, it was a trick, it was the thing behind her talking, it was trying to lure her off guard…

* * *

Shunsui had one hand on her back, and one clenched on his sword. His teeth ached from gritting them. Gods and demons, she was…not strong so much as _prickly_. Trying to hold her power down was like trying to pin an irate cactus. It wasn't hard to do, it just hurt like blazes. 

_This is not something to do when I've been drinking all night. Tomorrow I'm staying home and reading a book._

Nanao made a small, dreaming whimper, which would have tugged at his heart a lot more if she hadn't been giving him such an unbelievable headache. He was holding the hilt of his sword so tightly that the flower sigils were leaving imprints in his palm.

"Hush, sweet Nanao…lovely Nanao…bloody damn _tough _Nanao…"

Soft, inhuman laughter flowed up his arm from the hilt of Katen Kyokotsu. There was a presence in his mind, a youth with ancient eyes and flowers in his hair. Shunsui had actually found a painting once that might have been his zanpakuto's twin, of the god Dionysus, surrounded by bloody-mouthed leopards and women driven mad by wine.

_Of course, one madwoman is quite enough for me at the moment. Could probably use the wine, though._

Katen Kyokotsu found that amusing, but then, it found almost everything amusing. _Give her her sword, brother, _it suggested.

_And get in a nice little swordfight with her, in her sleep? Thank you, no._

_Trust me, brother. _Ghostly fingers touched the back of his neck. _Pick up her sword. I will speak to the owl spirit. She is no fool. _

Shunsui stifled a sigh. His sword hadn't ever led him wrong before, although occasionally its sense of humor was a little…peculiar. He reached over to the night table, where Nanao's short sword lay, and picked it up.

_There…_Power tickled his fingers. There was an odd humming along his nerves, a feeling of speech too distant or too alien for him to understand.

Being a conduit for two swords to have a conversation was about as interesting as watching grass grow. Shunsui went back to stroking Nanao's back and murmuring soothing nonsense.

_Very well, brother. Put the owl sword under her hand. _

_Are you sure this is a good idea?_

_The woman dreams she is alone, and powerless. Her sword will calm her. _

Shunsui glanced at Nanao, then down at his blade, which was stupid, because Katen Kyokotsu didn't have eyes. Still.

_If she draws, I'm not sure we can put her down without hurting her._

_Relax, brother. The owl spirit will not allow herself to be drawn against us. At least—_ Katen Kyokotsu uttered another peal of its wild laughter _–not this night._ _She retains the right to draw against us in the future._

Shunsui snorted. Smart owl spirit. He leaned over Nanao, her back pressed momentarily against his chest—damn, and he was too frazzled to enjoy that half as much as he wanted to—and slid the sheathed sword under her hand. "Come on, Nanao, it's only a dream…"

* * *

The walls wavered under the assault of the soft voice. And then— 

_Mistress. I'm here. This is a dream. _

She could have wept from relief. Shotozuku, her faithful sword. Shotozuku would not lie. A dream. Of course. There was no monster in the dark, no closing rooms.

_I'm here. It's okay, _said the voice that wasn't her sword.

_Ah,_ thought Nanao, _then this must be another dream as well. _ A soothing hand was rubbing her back, and that was a dream, too, so there was no need to fight it. She could relax. All just dreams. All…dreams…

_I'll take care of you, mistress._

_Shhh…_

Ise Nanao drifted deeper into sleep, without waking up. Shunsui carefully took down the shield around her, and saw with relief that her hands stayed free of flame.

He was tired, and more than a little drunk, and his head ached dreadfully. In a minute he'd get up and go back to bed. When he'd gathered his strength. In just a minute.

His chin sagged to his chest. Katen Kyokotsu laughed softly again, but there was no one awake to hear it.


	6. Chapter 6

Nanao came, slowly and reluctantly, out of sleep.

She didn't want to get up. She knew she had to, because there was training in about half an hour, and she really had to get up for that, but the man holding her was so deliciously warm and her eyelids felt so heavy, maybe just five more minutes…

She burrowed back against him, and he muttered something semiconscious and kissed the back of her neck.

A vague disquiet itched at the back of her brain. Was there something she was forgetting? Was she supposed to get up early today for some reason? She stirred. The arm around her tightened in response. His hand rested in the hollow between her breasts, and she had one of hers over it, and his body was curled around hers protectively, thigh to thigh and hip to hip. They fitted together beautifully. Getting up seemed like a dreadful waste.

Just five more …

…_wait just a goddamn minute…_

Nanao's eyes shot open.

_What._

_The._

_Hell._

She looked down. She was wearing…a hand, apparently. Lovely. A flash of pink silk in her peripheral vision would indicate that the other person in her bed was wearing a haori, which wasn't doing a lot in the coverage department, but did serve to confirm his identity beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"Go back to sleep, Nanao-chan," mumbled Shunsui, his breath warm against the nape of her neck, "S'only a dream."

_I. Will. Kill. Him._

It wasn't the first time that Nanao had woken up in someone's arms—she'd had a few (well, okay, _two_) romantic interests at the Academy. Not for a long, long time, though. Certainly not since she'd been in the Third.

_Calm. I am calm. I calm. I am stone, I am water, I am nothingness…_

There was something hard pressing against her lower back, and if she hadn't been able to feel that it was embossed metal, and thus probably the pommel of a sword, she would have calmly thrown the strongest kido she knew and blown them both to hell right then and there.

She drew in a deep breath. Unfortunately, that only served to rearrange things in the chest department.

_You don't attack captains. You don't attack captains. You don't…_

In Shunsui's defense, he was still three-quarters asleep, his hand was _right there_, and the resulting caress was driven entirely by instinct. You were semiconscious, you were male, there were breasts, these things happen. No jury of his peers would have convicted him, a fact which cut no ice with Ise Nanao.

"_What the hell are you doing!?"_

Shunsui rolled off the futon, hit the floor, and curled in fetal position, clutching his head. "Oh sweet god…medic!" he whispered.

"What is the meaning of this!?" snarled Nanao, looming over him, which would have been lovely if he'd been in any condition to appreciate it.

"Nanao-chan, please don't shout…oh god, my head…"

"Are you _drunk?"_

He didn't look drunk so much as utterly wretched. His eyes were intensely bloodshot, he cringed at every syllable, and his haori was being held on mostly by willpower and the sword shoved through the sash.

"Call Fourth…ooooh…"

She rolled him over with one foot, not gently. The sword thunked against the floor. "Did you plan this? Is this some kind of sick joke?"

"Nanao, I didn't…please keep your voice down…"

"_What the hell did you do to me?_"

"_Silence!"_ roared Shunsui, in a voice that could cut through a battlefield, and then let out a moan of anguish and held his head as if afraid his skull would come apart.

Nanao's mind was awash in outrage, but the shinigami were basically military, which meant that obeying orders was a hindbrain function. She snapped her mouth shut and glared down at him in icy silence.

He managed to crawl to his knees and put his elbows on the futon. "Now," he whispered, "we are going to discuss this…very…very quietly…like civilized beings."

"Sir!" she spat at him, but more quietly. "I don't see that we have anything _to _discuss! You obviously snuck in here and—and—"

"…And you're going to listen to what I have to say," he continued, eyes half-closed against the pain, "And then you are going to call me a medic. And I really don't care _what_ you do after that. You can crawl back to Gin and tell him I'm a drunk and a pervert if you want, which shouldn't surprise him in the least."

It was a knife so sharp she barely felt the cut. The blood draining out of her face was a wash of coolness against her cheeks, and there was no reason she should feel like she'd been kicked in the chest, none at all…

"Sorry," he said hoarsely, squinting up at her. "That was uncalled for. I'm in a helluva lot of pain right now, but I really shouldn't have said that."

She couldn't even manage a "sir," to that.

He rubbed a hand over his face. "Now. Listen to me. _Nothing_ happened. You were having a nightmare, you started throwing kido around in your sleep, and I had to come in and stop you before you burned my division down around my ears. And I was drunk." He sighed. "And getting you locked down about gave me a brain hemorrhage, and between that and being drunk, I obviously didn't make it back to my room last night." He met her eyes, deep brown to arctic blue. "And that was it."

"Sir."

"You were asleep, and I passed out. That's _all_ that happened." And when she stared at him in obvious disbelief, "Damnit, I'm not _that_ degenerate…"

Nanao exhaled. She wanted to believe him. It would be a lot easier.

"If you don't believe me, you can ask your sword."

_He is telling the truth, mistress. _

Well, then.

Nanao gathered the sheet and the shreds of her dignity around herself. "I'm getting dressed. Somewhere else. Sir." She stalked past him.

Even through what was obviously blinding pain, he managed half a smile. "Believe me, Nanao-chan, if I ever want you in my bed, I'll ask first."

_That arrogant _bastard!

"It will be a cold day in hell_. Sir." _She ripped a uniform off the hangar and headed for the only available exit, the door to his room. _Oh, well, at least I know it's empty…assuming he didn't bring anyone home last night, the bastard…_

He sighed. "Medic…?" he whispered hopefully, and then winced when she slammed the door behind her.

Katen Kyokotsu snickered at him, which made his teeth feel like they were coming loose from his jaw.

_Shut up, you. I'm holding you at least partly responsible. You should've woken me up._

_I'm a sword, brother, not an alarm clock. Besides, you liked it. It made you happy. Why should I stop such things?_

Shunsui sighed. His zanpakuto had some odd blind spots, and it wasn't exactly wrong. He _had_ liked it, entirely too much, and the way she'd assumed the worst had cut a little too close to the bone…well, he shouldn't have said that bit about Gin, anyway. That had been a low blow. He was going to have to find a way to make it up to Nanao—apologize, grovel, send expensive gifts, show up on time to drills…something.

He wondered if he could crawl to the hallway and flag down somebody to send a butterfly to Fourth before his head exploded.

Nanao yanked on her uniform in the next room, so furious that she nearly snapped the ties on the gi and had to slow down and do it over again.

She didn't know who she was madder at. Him, for being—for having—for whatever the hell he'd done wrong, not managing to crawl to his bed, not waking her up, not really trusting her, not _something_—or herself.

Not for overreacting. Not for casting in her sleep. No, the worst bit was…

…for a minute there, she'd been enjoying it.

It had been pleasant. She hadn't wanted to move. She hadn't minded that he'd been touching her. For just a minute, on the edge of sleep and waking, Nanao had felt safe and comfortable, content to be held, and she'd let her guard down, and that sort of thing could get you killed or worse.

_Dangerous. Stupid. He thinks you're a spy for Gin. _

She'd been relaxing in the arms of a man who was waiting for her to betray him.

She could almost hear Gin laughing. "Well, ain't that something…"

_I'm not a spy, damnit. _Nanao wanted to grab Shunsui and shake him until he got the point, but at this point, it'd probably kill him. (A notion not entirely without its charm.) _I'm not! I'm really not!_

_My loyalty to the Eighth…_

…would last right up until Gin got his hands on her for five minutes straight, if she was being entirely honest with herself. Three, if he was feeling particularly inventive.

_But I'm not! _

…_am I?_

* * *

Nanao spent most of the morning in a deeply foul mood, which she did her best not to show. That lasted right up to the kido lesson, when she was attempting to demonstrate proper aiming technique to the tenth. (The tenth-seat was a good kid, and really very lethal with his sword, but watching him trying to use demon magic was like watching a goldfish try to arm-wrestle.) Nanao took aim, snapped out "Destructive Art 33!" and annihilated not just her target but the ones on either side, put a crater in the wall, and generated a sonic boom that rattled the glass in the casements.

Bits of colored paper drifted down like confetti around the squad's ears. The tenth seat reached out a hand and caught a bit on his palm like a snowflake. "I don't think I can do that, Vice-Captain," he said contritely. "I mean, I'll try, but…"

"No," said Nanao wearily, pinching the bridge of her nose, "no, that's quite all right. Just…practice, okay?"

He saluted, cautiously. "Yes'm."

"Would you like me to take the rest of the class?" asked Sixth quietly behind her. "You seem a little…tense."

"Tense. Yes." Nanao exhaled. "Perhaps a little."

Sixth tapped a finger on her lower lip. "_He's_ never in his office at this time of day. It's probably safe enough to go do some paperwork and have a cup of tea."

Nanao wondered vaguely if the other woman was psychic.

"No," said Sixth, "I can't read your mind, I just couldn't help but notice that you blew up the _pink_ target." The older woman reached out a hand and set it carefully on Nanao's shoulder, squeezed. "All right? You need to talk? You need to hit something?" She smiled crookedly. "We can go over to the Eleventh and tell 'em Zaraki sleeps with a teddybear named Mr. Higgins if you want. I'll back you up."

Nanao was touched by this near-suicidal display of friendship despite herself. "No. Thank you. I'll be okay—just—tea. Yes." She bowed to Sixth, and to the assembled squad, and took herself off to the office.

She was able to lose herself in the bloodless intricacy of paperwork for a few hours, long enough to work through a pot of green tea, and for the leaves to get over-stewed and taste like old alfalfa, just barely long enough for the knots in her stomach and shoulders to loosen a little.

She was just leaning back in the chair, rubbing her neck and thinking that perhaps another pot of tea wouldn't go amiss when the door creaked open, and a familiar, if not entirely welcome, form came through it.

_Well, so much for Sixth's theory…_

Shunsui had a tray of food in hand, which he plunked on the desk in front of her. He stood looking down at her for a moment, looking tired and apologetic. "Here. This is for you. Sixth tells me that you skip lunch most days."

Nanao thought of a few different responses, but settled on the most neutral of them. "Does she?"

"She does indeed. So…" he was watching her carefully, as if she might bite, "you're going to eat, Nanao-chan, and I'm going to sit here and sign these forms."

"You're doing paperwork willingly?" she asked, raising a cynical eyebrow.

"Only as long as you're eating." He gave her a crooked smile. "Eat! Eat! You're too thin!"

Shunsui made about the worst Jewish mother Nanao had ever heard, but she recognized a peace offering when she saw it. She picked up the chopsticks by way of acceptance. "Very well." And, almost as an afterthought, "Sir."

The line of tension in his shoulders eased considerably. He looked a lot better, she had to admit—his eyes were still bloodshot, but he wasn't hunched over in pain, and he'd shaved at some point over the course of the morning. The hat and haori were missing, too. With his hair pulled back, in the monochromatic shinigami uniform, he looked oddly formal. She wasn't entirely sure she liked it—she had the strangest feeling that he was attending a funeral instead of lunch—but it spoke to his sincerity, anyway.

They sat in a not entirely unpleasant silence, punctuated by the clink of dishes and his occasional questions about the paperwork. "Which form is…ah, thank you. Where do I sign this one? What's schedule B, anyway?"

At last she pushed aside the remains of the tray, and he pushed aside the forms, and the quiet was broken only by the sounds of the Eighth whomping each other with practice swords outside.

"Nanao-chan—"

"Sir—"

They both paused.

"About this morning—"

"Sir, I—"

Shunsui smiled, but it was short lived. "Let me go first, Nanao." He set his hands on the desk in front of him, as if unsure of what to do with them. "I should apologize for this morning. Not falling asleep—I swear, that was really mostly beyond my control—but I was very out of line, and I said a few things that I should not have, under any circumstances. For that, I'm very sorry."

Nanao swallowed, and managed a nod. _He apologized. Gin never apologized for anything._

"If you wish to file a complaint, I won't contest it." He propped his chin in one hand and gave her a look that was sad, but without his usual puppy-dog attempt to gain sympathy. "If you feel that you must transfer—and I hope that you won't—Ukitate will take you in a heartbeat. It's not a Vice-Captaincy there, but at least he knows…he can protect you from…" Shunsui made a vague gesture in the direction of Third, but didn't finish the sentence.

"Do you really think I'm a spy, sir?" asked Nanao.

Shunsui snorted. "You don't pull punches, do you, Nanao-chan?" He leaned back in his chair, eyeing her solemnly. "I think it's a distinct possibility. Are you?"

Absolute honesty was the only course of action. Nanao bowed her head.

"I don't think I am, sir. At least, I don't want to be. I haven't told him anything yet, but I can't swear that if…" She spread her hands helplessly. "He can be very persuasive," she said finally, which was probably the greatest understatement she'd ever made.

Shunsui held her eyes for a long minute, and then sighed. "I shouldn't believe you," he told her dryly, "but I almost do. Against my better judgment. Jyuushiro would say something scathing, no doubt." He nodded once, as if to himself. "Well, then. We will simply have to make sure that he gets no chance to be persuasive."

He poured himself out a cup of tea, took a sip, and grimaced. "This tastes like old hay. Surely you're not drinking this stuff, Nanao-chan?"

"I left the leaves too long."

"Then I'll get a fresh pot." He stood up. "And to show you how very sorry I am, I will even bring it back, and if you are willing to put up with me, I will try to get to the bottom of my in-box this afternoon."

"Have you been to Fourth yet, sir?" asked Nanao, suppressing a smile. "I fear that some brain damage…"

"Been and been sent home. It's the painkillers talking, Nanao-chan, you know I'd never do paperwork otherwise…" He breezed out of the room, still holding the teapot.

Nanao leaned back in her chair. The ground, so lately unstable under her feet, felt more solid. Still a little shaky, to be sure, but not slipping away. For a little while longer, she had a place to stand.

She turned to Shunsui's inbox with a lighter heart. Really, it was amazing the bottom papers hadn't been compressed into diamonds by now. Down the hallway, in the common room, she could hear Shunsui singing to himself and rinsing out the teapot.

_Who knows how long it will last…but a little longer, at least. _


	7. Chapter 7

Sixth and Nanao stared at the paper in front of them, then at each other, then down at the paper again. It lay across the desk, exuding the silent menace of a viper. The black letters looked like the tracks of some small, rabid beast.

"Does he know?" asked Sixth.

"Not yet."

"We have to tell him."

"Yes."

The two women looked at each other.

"Flip a coin?" asked Sixth hopefully.

Nanao sighed. Much as she would love to pull rank and foist it off on Sixth, she _was_ the Vice-Captain, and with rank came responsibility… "I'll take care of it."

"You're a saint," said Sixth, edging for the door before Nanao could change her mind. "I've always said."

"You've _never_ said," said Nanao, amused despite herself.

"Well, now I'll start."

Nanao picked up the papers, gritted her teeth, opened her senses to that particular flamboyant and slightly drunken aura, and went to go find her captain.

She found him up on the roof, stretched out full length in the sun along the edge, his hat pulled down over his eyes.

"Captain?"

He pushed the hat up, saw her standing on the lower roofline, and wiggled around so that he could drop his head over the side and peer at her upside-down, right at eye-level. "Nanao-chan! You're even more lovely inverted. Have you come to join me in a nap?"

Nanao felt her lips twitch, and fought it back, surprised at herself.

"HA!" Shunsui leveled a finger at her. "That was a smile, Nanao-chan, don't deny it."

"Sir?" She struggled to keep her face deadpan.

"My Nanao-chan has a lovely smile. It's a pity it has such a short half-life…" He sighed.

"Sir." She held up her stack of papers. "I suspect you will not be feeling like smiling shortly."

"Oh?"

"There has been an…incident…requiring your attention."

He frowned. "The way you say 'incident' fills me with dread…"

"Rightly so, sir. It appears that last night, several members of the Eighth were involved in an altercation at a local drinking establishment."

"Well, they do that…" He smiled lopsidedly. "Who was it with?"

"The Ninth and the Eleventh, sir." She consulted her papers. "Well, mostly the Ninth. There appears to have been only one member of the Eleventh, but he did a disproportionate amount of property damage."

"They're crazy like that." Shunsui grinned at her. "What was it about?"

Nanao sighed. "Reason given was protecting a lady's honor, sir."

"'At's my squad!" He beamed at the world in general and her in specific.

"Unfortunately, the lady in question was Vice-Captain Nemu. Sir."

Shunsui's face took on a sudden pinched expression. "Oh, _no…"_

"Oh, yes." Nanao pushed her glasses up. "Captain Mayuri arrived shortly afterwards."

Without taking his eyes off her face, Shunsui reached down, grabbed his sake bottle, and took a slug.

"All present then took exception to the way that he was addressing his subordinate…"

"Well, you can't blame them for _that_, Nanao-chan. I sometimes want to smack the man myself."

"Indeed, sir. Apparently your squad shared that desire, and took action upon it."

A faint whimper escaped Shunsui's lips, but was rapidly drowned under another belt of sake.

"Captain Mayuri apparently felt that the best way to handle the situation was to release his bankai and gas the entire building."

Shunsui put a hand over his eyes. "How many of ours in the hospital?" he asked wearily.

"Five released with minor injuries, three are still in, pending observation. You've got time to go and—damn!"

Before she'd finished speaking, Shunsui had rolled to his feet and vanished. Nanao cursed and gave chase. Her range with flash wasn't as good as his, so it took her a few minutes longer to arrive at the infirmary, by which time he'd charmed his way past the attendants. She exchanged a brief, wry glance with Captain Unohana and followed in his wake.

Nanao waited patiently while he checked on his three injured. He scolded them in an appropriately authoritarian manner for disrupting the peace, and then, just when Nanao was holding out a shred of hope for the dignity of her division, grinned and said "Good job, guys."

Nanao sighed. The three injured members of Eighth looked as proud as if they'd been hurt fighting Hollows.

_Par for the course, I suppose…_

"Well," Shunsui said, a few minutes later, flipping through the charts supplied by Fourth, "looks like no long-term harm done. Thanks for letting me know, Nanao-chan." He began to stroll away.

Nanao planted a hand in the middle of his chest, a little surprised at her own daring, and said icily "Sir."

He looked down at the hand, then back up at her face. "Nanao-chan?" There was an undertone to his voice that was not precisely suggestive, but could get there in a hurry.

"Sir, there is still the matter of Captain Mayuri."

He got a hunted look. "Err…can't my lovely and _diplomatic_ Vice-Captain handle that…?"

Nanao exhaled. "Your lovely and diplomatic Vice-Captain has, in fact, handled most of it, sir. I have managed to persuade Captain Mayuri that the Eighth is not available to test something called "ulceration gas." However—" she folded her arms and stared at him over the top of her glasses, "—he requires an apology. In person. From you."

"It's a trap!" said Shunsui, clutching the edges of his hat. "He'll use me for unspeakable experiments, and not the fun kind!"

"Sir."

"You have to protect me, Nanao-chan! The man's mad! Deranged!"

_There's a lot of that going around…_ "Sir, need I remind you that you could annihilate both me and Captain Mayuri without breaking a sweat, if you chose?"

"I'd never do anything like that." Shunsui looked hurt. "Really, Nanao-chan, you start annihilating people and it never ends. I'm surprised at you."

"Sorry, sir. Regardless, you have just enough time to go see Captain Mayuri and apologize before your next general staff meeting."

"Is it an _important_ staff meeting?"

"I believe Sixth noted it in your calendar as "Don't blow this one off!" in red ink, and put little arrows pointing to it, sir."

"Oh, _that _staff meeting…"

"Sir." She folded her arms.

"You'll come with me, Nanao-chan?" he asked, giving her his best puppy-dog expression. "In case he's in one of those..you know…_probe_…moods?"

Nanao took her glasses off and cleaned them, which was just about enough time for her finely trained mind to excise that particular mental image. "As you wish, sir."

* * *

Twelth Division was always darker than the rest of the divisions for some odd reason. All the lighting was from video monitors and things glowing in the background, and Mayuri had been conducting some kind of experiment involving human tolerance of theramin music for the last twenty years, which gave the place a certain ambiance. Unspeakable things crawled in the corners, some of them on the payroll.

Nanao led the way briskly, forcing her Captain to keep up with her or be abandoned to the mercy of the theramins.

They found Captain Mayuri and the silent Nemu in one of the test chambers. Mayuri was glaring at a monitor and growling something into the intercom about acceptable test parameters. Nemu sat with inhuman stillness in one corner, only blinking occasionally, very slowly, like a lizard.

"Captain Mayuri," said Nanao, bowing politely.

"Hmm? Oh, it's you." Mayuri turned away from the monitors and fixed his white-eyed stare on Shunsui. "Well?"

Shunsui was staring through the one-way mirror on the far wall with a faintly sick expression. "Are those _kittens?"_

"Not anymore," said Mayuri, with definite satisfaction. He flipped a switch and the mirror went opaque. "Now, then…"

There was a lengthy silence. Nanao nudged Shunsui in the ribs with her elbow, which wasn't precisely regulation, but you did what you had to do. "Sir."

"Oh. Um. Right." Shunsui cleared his throat. "Uh. Terribly sorry, Mayuri, bit of a mess, you know how it is…"

"I do _not_ know how it is," said Mayuri icily. "If any of my squad causes a public spectacle, I harvest their organs. Discipline, Captain Kyouraku. Your squad is sorely lacking in it."

"Oh, well…" Shunsui tried his puppy-dog look on Mayuri and Nanao had to look away. "I _am_ sorry. Err…I assume Vice-Captain Nemu's okay…?"

Mayuri waved off the question. "Acceptable." He paused, eyes traveling over Nanao. "Your new Vice-Captain. We met earlier, didn't we?"

"My lovely Nanao-chan, yes…"

Nanao inclined her head.

"Hmm. She seems civilized enough, for one of yours. Have you considered having her cloned?"

Shunsui paused, mouth open. "Uh…"

_Oh, lord…_ Nanao stifled a sigh.

"I'd introduce some upgrades. I've been doing some amazing work with metal bone-lacing lately."

"I don't think my Nanao-chan needs metal bones…" said Shunsui weakly.

"Eye lasers? Limited metamorphic capacity?"

"Err…" He gave Nanao a frantic sidelong look.

Nanao took pity on him, not least because if she didn't, he might agree to something unfortunate. _I suspect eye lasers and glasses would not go well together…_ "Your staff meeting, sir."

"Right! Absolutely! Must go, Mayuri, you know how it is, duty calls and all that…" He shuffled her out the door with unseemly haste. She had to stretch her legs to keep up with him as he bolted from Twelfth, haori flapping behind him. "Urrggh. That man gives me the heebiest of jeebies."

"Not an uncommon reaction, sir." Nanao had an urge to pat him on the shoulder, but restrained herself.

"Well…I suppose I should get to that staff meeting…" He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "What a waste of a beautiful afternoon…"

"I will escort you there, sir."

"What? Really?" He grinned wolfishly down at her. "Nanao-chan, I'm touched! Finding excuses to spend time with me…"

"I am under orders from Captain Jyuushiro to make sure you arrive in a timely fashion, sir."

He sagged. "I am getting foiled at every turn today…" he muttered.

"I believe it is good for the soul. Sir."

* * *

Nanao stood at the top of a flight of stone steps and considered. She had handed Shunsui off to Captain Ukitate with the air of a warden transferring an inmate to a colleague, and now, astonishingly enough, she had several hours free.

Well, she was near the library. Perhaps she could go find a little recreational reading. She hadn't been over that way all week, and it was generally one of her favorite retreats.

Captain Mayuri hurried past her, arms full of papers and a jar full of something murky. Nanao nodded politely, and was somewhat relieved that he ignored her. _Metal bones. Feh. _

She had to roll her eyes remembering the incident earlier in the day. Defending a lady's honor. How sweet, and how utterly idiotic, all at the same time. That was the problem with chivalry, and most of its practitioners. It was touching, right up until you wanted to brain someone with a rock. Shunsui was a prime example. The line between charming and patronizing was a fine one, and he seemed to wander back and forth depending on her mood and his sake intake.

_Oh, well…one of these days…_ (She had no clear idea what would happen one of these days, but it was a comforting phrase nonetheless.) She walked briskly through the streets, and up the steps of the library.

Once inside, it was as if a tension she hadn't known she was feeling fell away. Books, glorious books. Nanao knew where she stood with books. She wandered through the stacks, fingers running over the bindings.

She hadn't had a home in quite awhile—being dead put a damper on such things—but the library filled her with a definite sense of homecoming.

"Ise-san!" said a warm voice behind her. Nanao found herself smiling again as she turned, and made only a token effort to hide it.

"Captain Aizen." She bowed, and meant it.

The Captain of the Fifth smiled. Nanao had run into him any number of times in the library, and generally enjoyed the experience. He was as avid a reader as she, painstakingly courteous, and willing to discuss books at great length, which was a rare thing in a captain. Ise had considered transferring to Fifth when she fled Third, and only the fact that there were no officer openings in his squad had given her pause. "You've been scarce lately, Ise-san. You have not been ill, I hope?"

"No, sir. Merely busy. And you, sir?"

"Very well. Actually, since you're here—" he pushed at his glasses, "—perhaps you could assist me a moment?" He gestured at a nearby table, which was covered in books and papers. "I hate to ask, but I need to deliver these before the staff meeting—to your division, as it happens—and I cannot make it in one trip. If you would be so kind…?"

"It would be my pleasure, sir." She gathered an armload of papers up, as he did the same.

"You are too kind, Ise-san. Follow me, then."

She followed him out of the library, got a bead on his reiatsu, and followed his rapid flash steps across the rooftops. He was a good bit faster than she was, but politely slowed down so that she could keep pace, if only barely.

Nanao was so intent on keeping up that she didn't actually realize the direction they were going until after they'd arrived.

She blinked at the door to the office, seized with a vague feeling that something was off, the angles were wrong, Shunsui's office was never that clean—

_Oh my god, I'm in Third._

Her heart clenched like a fist inside her chest.

_Oh my god, I've disobeyed orders, and now I'm in Third._

_Captain Aizen must not know I've transferred—he must have forgotten, or the announcement slipped under the radar—he thinks this is still my division—and of course he doesn't know—how could he know?—_

"We'll just leave these for your captain—he must be at the meeting already." Aizen entered the office and set the papers down on the desk. Nanao followed him numbly.

_It's okay. It'll be okay. It's not like Captain Aizen's going to let Gin throttle you in front of him, as long as he's here, you should be perfectly safe—_

"Thank you, Ise-san," said Aizen, smiling warmly. "I appreciate it greatly." He stepped out of the door and vanished.

"Wait--!" Nanao lifted a hand to stop him, too late.

_Crap._

She exhaled. Well, at least Gin wasn't here. She'd explain to Shunsui what had happened, he'd shudder with her over the close call, that was all.

_No harm done. Just leave. Leave _now.

Nanao turned and made a quick, involuntary sweep of the room with her eyes, reassuring herself that it was indeed empty, that no pale-haired vipers curled in the corners. It was. The files were neatly organized across the desk, and the wood gleamed. Kira had probably been polishing it again. Possibly with his tongue.

She started to turn.

The door closed behind her with a soft, final _click._

"Well, well, well…" purred Gin behind her. "Look what the cat dragged in…"


	8. Chapter 8

Ise Nanao was sitting seiza.

She had been sitting like this for a long time. She had no sense of how long. Years, perhaps. Possibly she had been born here. Certainly she was going to die here.

She had her eyes fixed on the ground and a fist planted between her knees. She had her hand death locked on the hilt of her sword. Gin would have had to break her fingers to pry them off, and that would leave marks.

He was very, very good about not leaving marks.

Ise Nanao was sitting seiza.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Shotozuku was raging, screaming defiance and hatred and all the obscenities a sword could muster, which were unusual and rooted in a psychology not even remotely human. Nanao could only appreciate this from a great distance. She seemed to be a long way away—just far enough that the black-clad form down on her knees did not quite seem to be connected to her, not quite far enough to get away from the pain.

Ise Nanao was sitting seiza.

There was a great deal of pain, in bright and breathless variations. There was pain, and occasionally there was pleasure that was almost as unbearable as the pain, and sometimes there was a relief of pain so total it felt like pleasure. Gin plucked her nerve ending like a master harpist.

It was all in her head, of course, it was power and spirit and left no marks, and if she tried to bring charges, it was her word against his, and he was, after all, a superior officer. The Third would be no help. They were as loyal in their own twisted way as the Eighth. Their captain's madness bound them together as tightly as love or terror.

Ise Nanao was sitting seiza.

He had a great many questions. She was not answering them. He was very concerned with the state of Ukitate's health, for one thing, and he had questions about Shunsui's swords that she did not know the answers to, and some about the Eighth that she did know, and would not tell him, and some that made no sense at all, things about the Council and the Execution ground. She tried to remember those, in case they'd be important later, but they slipped away like silvery fish, into that endless river of pain.

_I will not break, Captain, _she promised, and did not know which captain, past or present, she made that promise to.

Ise Nanao was sitting seiza.

She would not break. She would not bend. Pain was only pain. She had been offered loyalty, and she would offer it in return, as long as she was able.

It was no good trying to outwit him, trying to play the game. Chains of words would only tie her up more tightly. The best thing—the only thing—was to answer no questions at all, to reply to everything with a single word.

"Sir."

"Sir."

"Sir."

"You're testin' my patience, Ise…"

"Sir."

* * *

Captain Ukitate was bored.

His attention span was a lot longer than many of his peers—Shunsui had been doodling hearts, flowers, and large-breasted stick-figures for the past hour—but this was testing even his patience. The first hour had been important enough, about the changing patrol patterns in response to Hollow incursions along the borders, but then Mayuri had shown up with some experimental results, and Captain Aizen had brought up an issue with the leave paperwork, and now it was beyond tedium.

He scratched a tic-tac-toe board on his notes, put an X in the upper left, and shoved it over to Shunsui. The Captain of the Eighth never remembered that particular trick, and proceeded to lose six straight games before he gave up with a grunt.

Ukitate leaned back in his chair and looked around to see how the others were handling it. You could never tell with Komamura, under that hat, and Tousen was off in whatever unseen and unseeing world he lived in most of the time. Aizen was looking sober and serious and taking careful notes. Soi Fong was sitting back, arms folded, not even pretending to write. Unohana was watching with a polite expression, but Ukitate knew from long experience that the leader of Fourth was capable of napping with her eyes open and a look of vague, matronly warmth on her face.

A couple of people weren't present. Yamamoto had not seen fit to grace them with his presence. Zaraki had muttered something about needing to take a piss over an hour ago, and was only now returning, trying to slide into his seat with all the grace of a wounded water buffalo. Gin had skipped the meeting entirely and sent his second instead. Kira was scribbling notes with almost pathetic eagerness. It was enough to make your head hurt.

Shunsui slid his paper back over. _I'm having so much fun! _it read.

_I can tell. Want me to fake a coughing fit?_

Shunsui stifled a snort. _Don't tempt me, _he wrote, and underlined it.

"…moving on to part C," droned the minor council functionary at the front, "you will find that we have revised section II, which now requires the following written explanation…"

_Kill me now_, Shunsui wrote.

_Next time, send Nanao,_ Ukitate wrote back. _She can take notes for both of us._

Shunsui got the vague, sappy smile he usually got when Nanao's name came up. Ukitate rolled his eyes. He'd seen conquests come and go, but this one really had Shunsui going, it was something else. The Captain of the Eighth leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed, and Ukitate would put money that he was having one of _those_ fantasies again, probably the one about chocolate, the man had a positive _fetish_ for chocolate, it was really quite disturbing—

Shunsui's head suddenly jerked as if he'd been slapped, his eyes went wide, and he bolted upright, sending his chair crashing over behind him. The council functionary stopped in mid-word, staring, but Shunsui was already pushing his way out of the aisle and running for the door.

Which left Ukitate holding the bag. As usual.

"Excuse us," said Ukitate, standing up and hurrying after Shunsui.

"Is there a problem?" asked Mayuri snappishly.

"Err. No, no problem, just have to—" Ukitate glanced over his shoulder, saw that Shunsui had reached the doors, stepped through, and was in the act of vanishing. "—ah--" Crap, he had _nothing,_ "—use the restroom."

"_Both_ of you?" asked Byakuya, in that level voice that said nothing, but implied quite a lot.

Ukitate shrugged, gave his most winning smile, and fled.

"I don't care what anybody says," rumbled Zaraki into the silence that followed, "I _still _say they're gay."

* * *

Ichimaru Gin was annoyed.

The staff meeting would probably run about three hours, which was the maximum time he had to work on Ise before somebody came looking for her. There was a little bit of flex time, but not much. He'd already used an hour and a half of that, and his wayward fourth officer wasn't talking.

Really, it was downright _galling. _

It would probably come as no surprise to learn that Gin considered his work an art form. Pain, pleasure, threats, innuendo—those were the tools with which he chose to work, and his medium was nothing less than the human mind. He was an _artist,_ damnit. Being forced to work under these conditions was an affront to his aesthetic soul.

It wasn't that Gin didn't like a challenge. He did. That was what had attracted him to Ise Nanao in the first place—all that cool pride and disdain. She wasn't anything like Kira, of course—dear Kira, the masterpiece of Gin's particular portfolio, even Aizen had to admit that Kira was an astonishing piece of work—but that was fine. Gin didn't require _two _lapdogs. For Nanao, he had in mind something more akin to a hunting hawk—something he could send out for long periods on her own, before calling her back to the wrist.

Unfortunately, the little bitch had gone and slipped the jesses on him before he was done with her. And to add insult to injury, she'd wound up with that drunk Shunsui, one of the few people he couldn't intimidate, and who played no politics and wore all his vices so openly on his sleeve that blackmail was completely pointless.

_So _annoying.

"Now Ise," he said, very calmly. "I'm gonna ask you this again, and you know what's gonna happen if I don't like the answer…"

"Sir," she said, monotone and monosyllabic.

That was all she'd said the whole time. "Sir." That was it. He'd hurt her, he'd stopped hurting her, he'd threatened, he'd cajoled, he'd tried a couple of things that he'd pretty much invented for the occasion, and she hadn't said one other _word._

Whatever Shunsui'd done to stiffen her spine, it was pretty damned impressive. Maybe he'd gotten her into bed? Gin had never particularly liked Nanao's type—Matsumoto had spoiled him, arguably—but if he'd known that would undo all his hard work, he could probably have managed something. Just lie back, close your eyes, and think of Soul Society and all that.

…nah, it was _Nanao._ The ice maiden herself. What were the odds, really? By all accounts she didn't even _like_ her new captain, which made her resistance all the more baffling.

He flicked another spark of reiatsu down her nerve endings. She twitched, but that was all.

God, this was aggravating!

Having to use brute force instead of subtlety was pure frustration. He'd been working on Nanao for over a year now, carefully isolating her from the rest of the Third, dropping the faintest hints and letting her overworked mind gnaw over them in the small hours of the night. He'd even had her spying on Kira for weeks, not because Kira so much as breathed without Gin's permission, but because once they were spying on someone, they started to wonder about who was spying on _them._

And he'd been kind too, of course. That was the real trick to it. It wasn't enough to cut them off from everyone else, it wasn't enough to have them fear you, you also had to be all that was good to them. A word of praise here and there warmed them, _and _scared the shit out of them, and what more could you ask for?

Even the ice maiden needed a little human warmth. It was astonishing, after awhile, the lengths they'd go to in order to get it. Inspiring, really, if you were in Gin's line of work. He'd executed a couple of innocent bystanders to a Hollow attack in front of her once, for no good reason except to see how she'd react (he had been lavish with praise for her stoicism afterwards, and deeply amused at the reports that she spent half the night puking her guts up in the privy.) Really, it had been an excellent start, and he'd had _such_ plans.

"You know, Ise, if you'd just tell me what I want to know, we could put all this unpleasantness behind us. You could even come back to the Third. I've missed havin' such a trusted officer…"

"Sir."

Goddamnit, couldn't she come up with something else to say?

It had all been going so beautifully until she bolted. It was even more galling that he hadn't seen that coming, and now he was reduced to something a bare step up from torture. Such a _waste._ It was like spending months carving a perfect statue out of marble, and then having to finish it with a sledgehammer instead of sandpaper.

"I'm disappointed in you, Ise…"

"Sir."

Clammy, sweating, white as a Hollow's mask…Nanao looked like she'd been through hell—which, in all modesty, she had—but it hadn't been enough. She never broke seiza, even if she was leaning over so far that her glasses were about to hit the floor, she never screamed—really, what was the _point_ of soundproofing your office if they weren't going to scream?—and her hair hadn't even come out of the damn knot.

Gin didn't see how _anyone_ could be expected to work under these conditions.

God, at this rate, if she didn't break soon, he'd run out of time and options. He'd assumed that fear of another "interview" and the carefully tweaked remains of her loyalty would keep her quiet, but it was starting to look like that couldn't even be relied upon.

He might even have to kill her, and what an appalling mess _that_ would be. Shunsui was notoriously protective of his female officers—the few he could keep—and he might even pull himself off the barroom floor long enough to go asking awkward questions. Granted, Aizen could easily make it look like an accident—no, better yet, a suicide, that would be just about perfect, and entirely appropriate—but Gin really hated to hand the problem over like that. The power dynamic between them was already badly skewed, and Aizen had been cutting enough about having to lure Nanao over to Third in the first place. He'd be hearing about it for _weeks_ if he had to dump a body.

Gin was musing over possible further options when a very unwelcome presence suddenly flicked in outside the door. The identity of that power was immediately obvious, and Gin would venture so far as to say that he was pretty clearly pissed as well.

_Well, shit on the grill…_

Apparently Captain Shunsui had blown off the staff meeting.

_What, he needed a refill and she didn't show up with one, so he came looking? Damn! _

Fortunately, of course, he'd shielded his offices against flash, otherwise Nanao would be halfway to the living world by now, so the worst Shunsui could do was try to break the door down, and Gin had reinforced the hinges on those ages ago—

The shield over his offices tore like tissue paper. Gin had one moment of pure shock while the back of his brain tried to calculate just how much raw power that would take, and then Shunsui appeared inside his office, reached down, and grabbed Nanao by the scruff of the neck like a wayward kitten. The brim of that ridiculous hat lifted long enough for Gin to receive a look that was positively scorching, and then there was another flicker, and both of them were gone.

"Well, butter my ass and call me a biscuit," muttered Gin, and gave chase.

* * *

(While I think Zaraki gets the best single line in this chapter, Gin's final words are owed to a reader in another forum, who shall remain nameless, but once said that Gin really, really needed to say that. To which I agreed. (Hey, you live in the South, you get all of Gin's subtitles dubbed in the vernacular, and your brain starts going weird places.)

Also, Gin as frustrated prima donna artist is far too fun to write...


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry for the lengthy delay gettin' this up, gang...life intervenes, as usual. Enjoy!

* * *

Shunsui was angry.

He didn't get angry often. He tried to avoid it whenever possible. He didn't like the results. Fortunately, the older he got, the less there was in the world that seemed worth getting angry about. Most things that used to make him angry just made him sad and weary beyond telling, and left him wondering if he'd lived too long after all.

Betrayal could still do it. Fear for one of his people, pretty reliably.

He wondered which one this was.

He wasn't quite as white-hot furious as he had been thirty seconds ago, when he'd shredded Gin's shield like it wasn't there. That had taken a good bit more power than he'd expected, and it was as good a place to dump all that rage as anything.

Seeing Nanao kneeling in that office hadn't made him any angrier, it had just made him sick. She looked like death warmed over. Her power signature was a ragged shadow of itself. If she'd gone to Gin to report, she'd gotten a lot more than she'd bargained for.

He had hold of her collar now and there was no resistance, no nothing, just a limp weight. They paused on the rooftop outside of Third—Shunsui was almost hoping Gin would give chase, it would be lovely to have an excuse, and damn the paperwork—and he glanced down at his burden. The wind went tugging at his haori and teased the sweat-soaked strands of Nanao's hair.

She looked conscious—her eyes were open, anyway—but that was about the best you could say. He'd seen corpses with better color. She had a death grip on her sword, but she hadn't drawn. He didn't know if he should be wrapping her up in his haori and begging forgiveness for having failed to keep her safe, or shaking her until her teeth rattled and demanding to know what she'd told her old Captain.

_Humans,_ muttered Katen Kyokotsu in the back of his head. _You think two different things at once, and find it normal. It is astonishing your species survives at all. _

Shunsui was rather inclined to agree.

The air flickered twice. Gin materialized in front of him, smiling. Down the rooftop, off to his right, Ukitate caught his balance on the tiles.

"Well, well, well…" purred the Captain of the Third.

At Shunsui's feet, Nanao's breath rasped out like a dying woman's. The fingers of his free hand closed around one of Katen Kyokotsu's hilts.

"I wasn't quite done talkin' to her," said Gin.

"Yes," said Shunsui, voice like sweetened acid, "you were."

They stared at each other. Very, very slowly, Gin's fingers drifted towards his own zanpakuto.

"You know," said Ukitate, in a conversational tone from farther down the roof, "if a pair of captains were to get in a pissing contest in broad daylight, in the middle of the city, and if they were so foolish as to draw their swords, or god forbid, release them…"

Shunsui flicked a glance down at his friend, who was standing with his back to them, hands clasped behind him, and appeared to be addressing no one in particular.

"…well, I imagine there'd be an investigation. Lots of questions asked, lots of things dragged up, Yamamoto-sama would probably have to get involved, if not the council themselves." Ukitate gazed up at the sky, apparently considering the weather. "It'd be a mess, really."

Gin and Shunsui looked at each other. They looked at Ukitate. They looked back at each other.

Gin shrugged, flicked an ironic little salute with his fingers, and vanished.

Shunsui stared upwards for a minute, to a heaven that probably wasn't there, and his thoughts were not dissimilar to those that Nanao had had when she'd discovered her quarters full of shunga.

"Out of curiosity," he said, pleased at how absolutely even his voice was, "how do you stay that calm?"

Ukitate shrugged. "Fourth keeps me pumped full of more drugs than a champion racehorse."

"Ah."

"Come on. Let's get her to my office."

"Your office?" Shunsui frowned at him, getting a better grip on Nano's unresisting form. "Why _your _office?"

"Because if I lock the door, no one will disturb me. Try that with your crew, and they'll have a battering ram up in five minutes to make sure you're not passed out in a pool of your own vomit again."

"Oh, _one_ time…"

The wind skittered along the rooftop, and a moment later, went sighing through the place where they'd been standing.

* * *

"Are you hurt?" asked Shunsui, settling Nanao in a chair in Ukitate's office. It was clean but cluttered, mostly with paperwork and mementos. A humidifier in one corner exhaled moist, herbal-scented air. Ukitate closed the door firmly behind them.

"Sir," whispered Nanao, slumped back in the chair.

"Nanao-chan?"

"Sir."

"Nanao, you have to tell me what happened."

"Sir."

Ukitate studied her thoughtfully, and nodded once, almost to himself.

"Why did you go to Third? What was Gin doing? What did he say?"

"Sir."

"What did you tell him? _What did he want to know?"_

"Sir."

"Nanao, are you _in_ there?"

"Sir."

Shunsui put a hand over his eyes. Either she was bloody near catatonic or she was stonewalling him. Very successfully, he might add. Frustration was beginning to swamp his initial panic. (He would not have been at all consoled to know that Gin had been just as frustrated an hour earlier, for pretty much the same reason.)

"Enough," said Ukitate wearily. "This is pointless."

"Jyuushiro—"

"You're not going to get anything out of her by badgering her, Shunsui."

"I am _not_ badgering—" Shunsui began, heard his own voice, and snapped his teeth shut on the rest of the sentence.

"I think," said Ukitate carefully, "that we should all calm down. And that I am going to make some tea."

"Will that help?"

"Tea never hurts anything."

There was a lengthy silence, broken only by the clink of teacups. Ukitate lifted the tray from the sideboard and brought it back to the table. He pushed a cup into Nanao's hand, and nodded approvingly when her fingers closed on it.

Shunsui slouched back in his chair and sipped.

A long few minutes passed, while Shunsui tried not to drum his fingers on the table or grip his sword or start screaming or anything else that would make things any tenser than they already were.

Very slowly, Nanao loosened her fingers from the hilt of her sword. Her hand crept up to cradle the teacup and she lifted it with both hands to her lips.

Ukitate smiled.

Shunsui was torn between hope and a desire to bite something.

Nanao drank deeply, exhaled, and lowered the cup. She kept her fingers wrapped tightly around it, as if for warmth.

Ukitate caught Shunsui's eyes, flicked his gaze to Nanao briefly, and made an almost imperceptible jerk of his chin.

You didn't have a friend for that many centuries without learning the language. Shunsui shrugged quickly out of his haori and draped it over Nanao's shoulders. When his fingers brushed her arms, he could feel her shivering.

He opened his mouth to say something—he wasn't sure what—and Ukitate silenced him with a glance. Shunsui dropped back into his chair and tried not to fume.

It seemed like most of an age had passed before she lifted the cup to her lips again. When she lowered it, some indefinable madness had passed out of her eyes, but she did not meet his gaze.

"I didn't tell him anything," she rasped. "I swear."

"Why were you—" His voice was as harsh as a crow's call, and he cut himself off, not even needing Ukitate's glare, until he could gentle it down. "Why were you in the Third Division, Nanao?"

"I—I did not mean—I_swear—"_

He reached over and grabbed her wrist. _Katen Kyokotsu, can you speak to her sword? Find out if she's telling the truth?_

His blades stirred._ We _can_ lie, brother. "Honest steel" is a cliché, nothing more._

_Just try._

There was another of those maddening jittery feelings of distant conversation, and then his sword was laughing again. _The owl spirit says—I quote, brother—"Tell your master to get his filthy hands off my mistress, or I will unmake even his bones."_

This was not the reaction Shunsui had been hoping for.

_She is quite agitated, brother. She wishes to protect her wielder, and she has been denied that chance. I do not think 'berserk' would be too strong a word._

_Can you calm her down?_

_I am a sword, not a therapist. We have no hierarchy, so I cannot 'pull rank' or anything similar. However, I would suggest that you begin by doing as she requests._

_Doing as she…_

_I would not call your hands filthy, brother…although would it kill you to pumice some of those calluses occasionally? My hilt wrapping is watered silk, you know, and it does catch occasionally…_

Shunsui carefully removed his hand from Nanao's wrist and concentrated on breathing deeply and counting to ten.

"I _swear_," said Nanao, staring down into her tea.

"No one is accusing you of anything," said Ukitate kindly. "It will be all right."

Shunsui thought glumly that it _wouldn't_ be all right, it might _never _be all right, but he also knew perfectly well that sometimes you have to say it anyway.

Steam drifted off the teacups, and rose silently towards the ceiling.

"How did you know?" Nanao asked, and finally met her Captain's eyes. "You came. _How did you know?"_

"Ah…"

Ukitate began laughing softly, that whispery laugh he had when he was trying not to cough. He dabbed at his lips with a handkerchief. "He knew because he's been checking up on you a dozen times a day. I think he reaches for your reiatsu in his sleep."

Shunsui glared at him. Nanao looked blankly at Ukitate, then back to her Captain.

"I tried to find your power signature," he confessed. "I do…well, occasionally, yes. To make sure you're not…well, anyway. You were somewhere near Third, and something felt...wrong."

That was almost a lie. It had been well beyond wrong, it had felt like a mortal wound, like something pushed to the breaking point, a candleflame flaring to the brightest point before guttering out completely.

It had frightened him badly. Much more so than he expected to be frightened, at his age.

Katen Kyokotsu snickered at him.

"I—you—but—" "Nanao stammered something unintelligible, and then sagged back in her chair, looking vaguely surprised.

"Ah," said Ukitate pleasantly, "that'd be the muscle relaxants kicking in."

Shunsui blinked a few times, then said, in a remarkably controlled voice, "Ukitate, did you just drug one of my officers?"

Ukitate shrugged. "I had extras. Figured I might as well share the wealth a little. She _is_ looking more relaxed now, don't you think?"

Shunsui tapped his fingers on the hilt of his sword, an indescribable expression on his face. "I—" He looked over at Nanao.

Nanao did look a good bit more relaxed. Unfortunately, she also looked only about half-conscious. Her eyelids fluttered.

"I really don't approve of this, Ukitate."

"Oh, relax. I barely gave her half a dose—"

Nanao slid bonelessly out of the chair and only Shunsui's quick reflexes kept her from hitting the ground in a heap.

"—although perhaps I should have considered the differences in our body weight and tolerance," Ukitate allowed.

"This is _not cool_, Jyuushiro," said Shunsui, from somewhere under his limp vice-captain.

Ukitate shook his head. "You were going to try badgering information out of a woman who'd just been tortured and is just barely this side of catatonic. _Think,_Shunsui. Give her a couple of hours of rest and a little space where no one is demanding answers from her. Trust me."

_I agree with him, brother._

Thus outnumbered and outvoted, Shunsui got to his feet and picked her up in his arms. His back twinged. Sure, it was a romantic gesture, but Shunsui generally liked to make it on the threshold of the bedroom, say, rather than several blocks away. Even someone as birdboned as Nanao got damn heavy when you were leaping from rooftop to rooftop.

_Oh, well, no help for it… _He settled her across his chest. Her body was warm and pliant against his, and it was a terrible thing how attractive that was, when she was half-dead and doped to the gills. _Down, boy…_

"It is an odd thing." murmured Ukitate behind him.

Shunsui paused in the doorway. "_What_ is odd? Other than everything?"

Ukitate indicated Nanao with his chin, and met Shunsui's eyes warningly. "She never shed a tear. Not once. Not in front of Gin, and not in front of you."

Shunsui blinked down at his armful. Her face was pale, and while there were still traces of sweat across her forehead, there was no redness to her eyes, no dried snail-tracks down her cheeks.

"What do you think that means?" he asked. "She faked the whole thing? It was a set-up?"

Ukitate shrugged. "It's possible." He reached out a hand to adjust Nanao's glasses, which were sliding down her nose, and Shunsui felt a sudden and astonishing flash of jealousy. He squelched it instantly—this was _Ukitate_, for god's sake—but was glumly aware that his friend had almost certainly caught that brief, involuntary flare.

The Captain of the Thirteenth gave a small, rueful smile, and took his hand away. "It might have been a set-up. But I don't think so." He massaged his fingers idly with his other hand. "I think…I would advise you not to underestimate your Vice-Captain's pride.

Ever."

Shunsui gave him a short, sharp nod, and took himself and Nanao away before he could say anything that he might regret later.

* * *

"You let them get away?" asked Aizen, very calmly.

"'Let' isn't exactly the word I'd be usin'…"

Aizen smiled his pleasant smile, which warmed the hearts of many who saw it, and did not warm Gin, who knew better. "They got away."

Gin took refuge in silence, and merely smiled up at the ceiling. Had Nanao been in the room, she could have read the tightness around his eyes and recognized that Gin was worried.

The captain of the Fifth drummed his fingers on the table. Gin continued to study the ceiling.

"We will do nothing," said Aizen finally.

"What?" Gin dropped his eyes from the ceiling.

Aizen gave him a mildly annoyed glance, which raked across Gin's brain like the edge of a naked sword. "What do they have? One woman's word. You left no marks, I trust?"

"'Course not." Gin was offended at the very notion.

"The Third is _loyal_ to you, is it not?"

"'Course they are."

"Then what will they do? If they go to Yamamoto, the Third will provide testimony that she is mentally unbalanced, that she left under a dark cloud, and would say anything to bring you down. You will be sympathetic—so sorry, such a tragedy, such a fine officer to have been brought so low—and all charges will be dismissed, she will be discredited, and that will be all."

Gin rubbed at the back of his neck. "Can't you just…do…" He made little waving gestures with his fingers.

Aizen looked at him coolly over the edge of his glasses. "I see no point in exerting myself to clean up _your_ mess."

The thought crossed Gin's mind—far down, deep, where it couldn't betray itself with so much as a twitched eyelash—that Aizen might not want to risk tipping his hand to Shunsui and Ukitate. That the other captain might—possibly—ever so slightly—be a little wary of them.

And that was…_interesting._

"Sir," said Gin. He paused almost imperceptibly at the sound of his own voice saying that word, then left the room.


End file.
